


crown yourself

by jill_ian



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jill_ian/pseuds/jill_ian
Summary: Maybe Hawkins, Indiana liked to behave. Maybe it pretended to be normal.But Billy didn’t. Wasn’t.And he was willing to bet he wasn’t the only one.(Or, Billy and Max move to Hawkins in the fall of 1983. Not ’84. And things, they go a little differently.)
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 142
Kudos: 336





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _what do you do  
>  when there’s no hero in your story?  
> simple.  
> you kill the monster  
> and crown yourself.  
> -happily ever after (o.q) _

It wasn’t even somebody that mattered. That was the worst part about it, Billy thought.

It was just some guy Billy had met on the boardwalk in July, with a family from Connecticut. Or Jersey. Massachusetts. Wherever.

Somewhere he’d fuck back off to once the summer was over because he wasn’t somebody that mattered.

It didn’t _matter_.

But July turned into August and the end of the summer had made Billy careless, less careful. Lowered his guard so far he didn’t think much of it when he got pulled under the pier by the hands he’d spent the last six weeks learning. Let those same familiar hands touch him, out under the pier, out in the open with only the dark night sky and the cover of wooden beams to hide them away.

Sea breeze to tickle his cheeks. Waves to lap at his feet.

It was the end of the summer and Billy couldn’t be bothered to care.

Not about his dad, who told him to have Max home at 11. Not about Max, who was still young enough to think that curfews mattered.

Not about anything.

Billy let his guard down, because it was the end of the summer, the body pressed against him was warm, and the hands on him were rough.

And Max had come looking.

He didn’t remember much after that.

He remembered not being able to find Max up on the boardwalk, after he’d gotten off under the pier and didn’t stick around to make eyes with some nobody from Connecticut, or Jersey, or Massachusetts under the moonlight.

Remembered walking into the kitchen, to find his father and Max sitting at the table together. Max’s head tilted forward, eyes covered by bright orange hair.

Remembered the knots that twisted in his stomach when his father finally looked up at him. Jaw set. Mouth a thin line. Nostrils flared while he told Max to _‘go to your room and go to sleep, okay? You’ve had a long night.’_

He didn’t remember his father standing up. Didn’t know how or when he’d gotten close enough to be able to smack Billy on the cheek with a, “You want to tell me where you were tonight?”

Knocked the wind clean out of Billy’s sails. Knocked all the words off his tongue. All the thoughts from his mind.

Felt another smack before he could even see it coming. A good, hard slap and a, “You want to tell me what had you so busy that you couldn’t remember that I asked you to have your sister home at a decent hour?”

Billy had kept his mouth shut, he remembered that, knew that much. Knew it because it hadn’t been the right thing to do. It never was.

The game was rigged. Maybe keeping his mouth closed was the wrong thing to do, but opening it wasn’t right, either. It never was.

There was no way for him to win here.

So he didn’t. Lost. Kept his mouth shut. Earned an extra slap for it. An extra shove. A set of hands balled in the front of his shirt that pushed him back and pinned him up against the fridge, held him up so high the tips of his toes just barely brushed the floor.

He remembered wondering where Susan was. Remembered wondering what she would do if she stumbled through the door at that exact moment, wine drunk from book club, and saw what was happening to him.

If she would walk in through the front door and help him.

He was almost glad she didn’t, because he knew she wouldn’t.

Susan was nowhere to be found. So his father kept going.

“Now from what I heard, you were too busy with the _Bradford boy_ to go pick up your sister. Is that true?”

And Billy knew, knew from that way he spat that name- _the Bradford boy_ -that his father knew all about him and Charlie Bradford. What they’d been doing.

Billy didn’t say anything. Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t make a sound when the hands pulled him away from the fridge, just so that they could shove him back against it. Pushed him so hard the back of his head collided with it, a solid thud that rattled his brain in his skull.

Made his ears ring, made his head pound. Made his head fall forwards and his eyes fall half-lidded.

Made it hard to hear when his dad dropped his voice down low, dangerous.

“Is that true?”

Billy couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. Not with the nausea threatening to wash over him. Not with the way his head was spinning. The fact that one of those hands left his shirt to grab his chin. Forced his head up to meet his father’s eyes.

Made it so that they were looking right at each other when his father kept going.

“I think I raised you right, Billy. Didn’t I?”

Billy might have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on not passing out, not throwing up.

“I raised you to have your sister home on time,” he stated, as if Billy had been looking after Max his whole life, as if his father hadn’t just married Susan within the last year. “And I _know_ I didn’t raise you to run around like a whore that likes to get his dick wet with some trust fund faggot, now did I?”

Billy’s silence earned him a fist to the jaw. A hard crack that made it hard to stay upright, stung from the bite of his father’s class ring.

He repeated himself. Slower. Meaner. “Now did I?”

Billy had blood in his mouth. Copper to sharpen his tongue. Maybe something like a death wish.

“Guess you did.”

And then everything went black.

The next few hours only came through in bits and pieces. Flashes of light, of pain.

Billy’s body hitting the floor. A boot crashing into his ribs. A pair of fists that collided with his cheeks over and over and over again.

Until the pain gave way to lights, to sirens. Red, white, and blue, hard beeps and bumps that told Billy he was in some sort of car. A strong, sterile smell that told him he was in a hospital.

A hospital with doctors, nurses that poked and prodded with needles and questions.

_How did this happen?_

_Who did this to you?_

_It’s okay. You’re not going to get into any trouble. You can tell us._

But Billy knew better. Knew there would be trouble whether he kept his mouth shut or not.

There was no way for him to win.

He kept his mouth shut anyway.

Left the hospital later that morning and left California later that week, with three cardboard boxes, two plastic crates in the backseat of his Camaro and his father’s beat-up Cadillac leading the way out of the Golden State.

Spent the entire drive with his hands tight around the wheel. Sunglasses over his black eyes and battered cheeks. The echo of his father’s voice in his ears.

_We’re leaving. Going somewhere you can’t act on all those disgusting, little tendencies. A small town where you’ll have no choice but to behave and learn how to be normal because I won’t put Susan and Max through this again. Do you understand?_

If you’d have told Billy, once upon a time, that at some point in his life words would hurt worse than wounds, he wouldn’t have believed you. If you’d have told him when he was 12, when he got his first backhand to the side of the face, he wouldn’t have believed you.

Here he was, though. Face stained purple and black. Two broken ribs in his chest. Head so fuzzy the road was shown in multiples of two’s and three’s.

And yet.

He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Couldn’t feel any of it because the bruise that hurt the worst was _behave_. The broken bone that ached the worst was _be normal._

His face would get better. His ribs would heal. His head would fix itself.

The words, though. The words were infected wounds. Had the power to destroy a body from the inside out.

Billy had a 28-hour drive for those words to rot and take root in his mind.

_Going somewhere you can’t act on all those disgusting, little tendencies. A small town where you’ll have no choice but to behave and learn how to be normal._

Small town didn’t even cover the half of it.

Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t a small town so much as it was hell.

Billy knew that the second he saw the Welcome sign.

Felt a pit form in his stomach. Felt his fingers itch for a cigarette. Felt his foot threaten to press down hard on the gas so that he could take off back down the highway and out to California.

Problem was, his dad hadn’t been kidding. This town was small. So small Billy hardly had the chance to let his foot fall heavy, to consider bolting before he found himself parked along the curb in front of a small house.

Their new house.

Their fresh start.

Billy’s chance to _behave_ and _be normal._

His new normal would be a room at the front of the house, right next to the front door. A room with big windows, a wall with built-in shelves, a dusty fireplace that looked like it was more for show than keeping anybody warm.

He got all of his stuff, the boxes and crates, out of the Camaro and dropped them off in his room. Helped get the rest of the boxes out of the Cadillac, out of the moving trailer his father had rented to carry the rest of their shit.

He didn’t stick around to unpack any of it. The stuff for the kitchen. The living room.

He shut the door to his room and focused on his own stuff. Stuffed his clothes into a dresser. Put some books up on the shelves. Arranged his shit around the room so that it looked less. Dull. Lifeless.

He plopped down on his bed when the boxes were empty, crates stacked in the corner to make extra space for his cologne, his hairspray. He fell back, turned his head to one side, let his eyes wander until they landed on his alarm clock.

Found bright red numbers that told him that it was only 8:30. That it had taken him less than an hour to unpack.

The walls were too white. The air was too thick. The crickets were too loud.

It had taken Billy less than an hour to unpack his _entire life._

The thought was a rock that lodged itself in the back of his throat, slid down, bottomed out when his hand twitched in his lap. Reminded him he hadn’t had a cigarette in hours.

Gave him a reason to get out of that new room. That new house.

That new chance to _behave_ and _be normal._

He ignored the shouts of his father somewhere towards the back half of the house and got in his car. Took off down the street in search of some kind of gas station, general store, liquor store.

Ended up at some dinky little place called Melvald’s. The type that looked like it had been built in the 50’s and hadn’t been updated since.

Had low shelves Billy could see over. Lights that tinted the place a dull shade of green. Linoleum floors that echoed, sound hollow, thin beneath his boots.

The woman behind the counter was small. Pale. Had eyes Billy thought looked sort of sad. Eyes that lingered too long over his face, the bruises that turned his tanned skin purple and black.

Sad eyes that looked at him with the type of concern he’d always thought was reserved for mothers.

Concern he hadn’t seen in years. Concern he hadn’t deserved in years.

Almost made him say it.

_My father just moved me here and I already hate it. I hate him._

The longer she looked at him, the more he wanted to say it. The more he pushed it down. The more he wanted a drink.

She just kept looking, like she was waiting. Smiled, an easy quirk at the corners of her lips. Sort of sad. Like her eyes.

Killed any and all hope Billy had of wondering _how much would it take for you to gimme a twelve pack and turn the other way?_

No chance. Not with those eyes.

She handed over two packs of Marlboro Reds, he handed over some cash, and he got back in his car before he could do something stupid.

Like try to buy beer.

Like spill his guts to sad eyes.

Like ruin his chance to _behave_ and _be normal._

He lit the cigarette easy. Took a slow drag. Closed his eyes. Let the smell, the feeling, the comfort of it ground him. Ran a hand over his face and breathed out, knocked all the air out of his lungs so that he could take another good pull before he turned the car on and pulled out of the parking lot.

What he needed now was to find a spot with cheap booze. Without sad eyes to make him feel bad about it. Decided to wander a while, drift out of town so there’d be less of a chance of his dad finding him.

Small town, big state.

Pitch black skies. Thick woods. More trees than Billy had seen in his entire life and just when he thought he’d gotten to the end of them, just when he thought that the trees would clear out and give way to flat land, there would be more.

From California to a neverending fucking forest that ate the sound of his engine. Killed the noise. Dampened the growl that Billy wanted to feel in his chest.

Didn’t stop him from trying, though. Didn’t stop him from putting his foot down on the gas so hard the trees started to blur. Went from thousands to one, one long line of hard black in the blink of an eye.

But black liked to give way to sirens, to red, white, and blue and the mechanical whirl of a police car somewhere close-by.

Real close. Too close.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

Billy pulled over, swallowed hard. Put the cigarette in his mouth to give it something to do while he turned his music down.

Fuck, _fuck_ this wasn’t happening already. This couldn’t be happening already. Cops were bad news and a ticket was even worse news and Billy had a house he had to go back to.

A father he’d have to explain this to.

He rolled his window down after two hard knocks with hard knuckles against the glass. Took that split second, that twitch of his finger that pushed the window switch down and gave way to open air, to plaster a smile on his face.

Plastic. Fake.

Charming as all hell as he let his left arm dangle out the window and tipped his head to one side, looked up. Locked his gaze onto a police officer with eyes Billy thought looked tired. Old. Maybe sort of run down, worn down.

“Can I help you, officer?” The words were lazy, easy. Nothing like the panic twisting his insides.

The officer leaned down, looked at Billy off the tip of his nose. Mouth pulled into a frown behind a thick mustache.

“You know how fast you were going?”

Obviously.

“Too quick?”

“Way too quick.”

“Sorry.” He let the word go with a laugh, fiddled with the cigarette between his middle finger and his thumb. “Family’s new in town. Musta missed a speed limit sign somewhere.”

“Kid.”

Billy’s blood froze. Went warm to cool, hot to cold in the blink of an eye.

 _Kid_.

He’d turned 17 last month. He wasn’t young enough, small enough for some condescending dickhead to look at him and call him _kid_.

“You were going 95 in a 50. You weren’t even close.”

Billy nodded, in a way he thought was sort of sweet. Almost unassuming. Nothing like the shit-eating grin on his face, the bruises on his cheeks.

The _fuck you_ waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“Looks like now I know to be more careful next time.”

The cop’s face didn’t move, not even an inch. He wasn’t buying it.

The ice in Billy’s veins got colder.

“Can I see your license for a second?”

He almost said _no_. Almost let that _fuck you_ loose and drove away.

Instead, he unclicked his seatbelt, reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Got his license out and handed it over. Made sure his hand didn’t shake in the air between them.

Watched the cop’s run down, worn down eyes scan the thin plastic, looking for something Billy wasn’t sure of. Was glad to have his license in his hands after a few long seconds while the cop spoke again.

“Look,” he started. In a tone. A _dad_ tone. Billy didn’t like _dad_ tones. Didn’t do anything to help the _fuck you_ waiting back behind his teeth. “I was gonna give you a ticket, but your license says you’re from California, so I’m gonna let you off with a warning.”

Billy’s whole system flooded with warmth. Warmth like relief. Like luck. Kept all of that off his face. “Appreciate that.”

And with it, he expected the cop to leave him alone. Waited for him to walk away, drive away.

But again, the cop didn’t move. Not even an inch. Just looked at Billy off the tip of his nose and leaned down further, like he was trying to get a good look.

Like he was trying to make sure that Billy got a good look. That Billy saw that the badge over his heart said _Chief_ and not _Officer_.

That Billy knew just how lucky he was to be let off with a warning because of _course_ he got caught by the chief of police.

“Watch the signs next time,” he said. “And just be careful, alright? You’re gonna wrap that thing around a tree if you’re not paying attention.”

As if he really gave a shit whether or not Billy ended up wrapped around some tree.

Nobody did.

Billy bit that down. Bit that bitterness down, those words. Nodded his head and tried to let the relief of it all fall heavier. Let it flood his senses and drown that bitterness out.

“Will do.”

And with it, the cop-the god damn _chief of police_ -finally turned on his heel, got in his truck, and drove away.

And Billy, he didn’t waste any more time in finding a liquor store.

Had a big ol’ bottle of Jim Beam sitting in the passenger seat when he pulled back into his driveway a little while later.

He stuck the bottle in the back pocket of his jeans when he got out of the car, pulled his shirt down over it. Knew the move was a little risky, a little reckless, but his room was right off the front door. All he had to do was make it through and pivot 90 degrees and he was as good as golden.

What he didn’t account for was his father still being awake. For his father to be sitting in a chair by the front door with a book in his lap. Glasses down low on the bridge of his nose.

Voice even lower.

“Where the hell have you been all night?”

Billy was suddenly all too aware of the bottle in his back pocket. Shifted so that his back was facing his bedroom door. Kept the hard line of it far out of his father’s view.

“Ran outta smokes on the drive.”

He watched his dad’s eyebrows shoot up. Watched his lips curl into something like a smile. Something smug. “And that took you almost three hours?”

Billy blinked hard. Ignored the way his heart racked against his ribs.

“The roads are really dark. I-”

He swallowed.

Didn’t say _I got pulled over_ or _I stopped at the liquor store in the next town over, too._

“I got lost.”

His father pursed his lips, but apparently that was enough, the excuse was believable enough because he pushed his glasses back up his nose and kept reading.

Billy took half a step backwards, spun on his heel, and shut the door behind him. Before his dad could see the bottle in his back pocket.

The same bottle he had in his hands when he flopped back on his bed with a creak.

The same bottle that helped the world go hazy after a couple long sips.

Billy thought he deserved it, the buzz, the dizziness.

He’d been dizzy for days and his face still hurt like hell and he’d almost gotten busted three separate times tonight.

Almost ran headfirst into his dad on his way into the house. Almost mouthed off to a cop with tired eyes. Almost spilled his guts to a woman with sad ones.

Billy let the whiskey make him dizzy and made sure it kept him dizzy for the rest of the weekend. Until he forgot he was in a place called Hawkins and that there wasn’t a beach waiting for him at the end of the road. Kept his eyes closed and pretended he could hear the ocean if he tried hard enough.

Forgot about white walls and dead air and loud crickets.

Replaced them with surfboard sunrises and sea breezes and sunshine.

Saturday. Sunday.

Went out for more when the bottle went empty sometime between Sunday and Monday. Labor Day Monday.

School started Tuesday.

Tuesday, September 6th, 1983.

Billy pulled into the parking lot with Max in the passenger seat. Aviators over his eyes. Covered some of the bruising on his cheeks, tinted more green, more yellow now than purple, than black.

He watched bright orange disappear off in the direction of the middle school, watched Max get on her skateboard and ride away without a word.

He might have called after her, might have said something rude, maybe funny, same way he might have done back home, but when he blinked, Max wasn’t on her skateboard.

She was sitting at a kitchen table in California. Bright orange hair down over her eyes.

Billy’s whole life held in the palm of her hands.

A life she’d handed over to cruel fists.

So he let her go without a word. If she wasn’t back at the car by 4, like his dad had told her to be over breakfast, he’d leave.

If she cared as much about curfews now as she did in California, she’d be on time.

If she wasn’t. Well. Too bad.

Not his problem.

He closed the driver’s side door with a bang. Pushed his sunglasses up his nose. Toyed with the keys in his palm before he stuck them in his pocket and walked away. Through the parking lot, towards the school.

He let his eyes wander while he did, knew they were safe enough behind thick, tinted glass that he could be a little careless about it, despite the way he kept his head square to his body. Made it look like he had his gaze set forwards, like he didn’t care about all the kids he saw staring at him.

Like he didn’t notice.

He did notice. He always noticed. Knew he screamed _look at me._ Especially here. Especially now.

With his car. His hair. His glasses. The slight tilt of his head. The tip of his chin. The cutoff tank top that sat just at the waistline of his jeans and showed off more tanned skin, more muscle than these Midwestern hicks were probably used to seeing.

_Look at me._

Billy always screamed _look at me_ and boy, were they looking.

It was just too bad Billy didn’t find much when he looked back.

When he looked back, he saw a lot of slack jaws. Raised brows. Bright shirts. High waisted shorts. High top shoes.

Not a shred of individuality, of personality anywhere.

Billy could take care of that problem. Was pretty positive he had more than enough personality to go around.

An attitude he knew would have him at the top of this half-assed food chain in a minute. Charm that would win him a crowd of adoring fans before he even had to bat his eyelashes. Shoulders fit to carry the world, head fit to wear a crown.

Billy kept walking. They all kept staring.

There was only one little group that caught Billy’s eye. A group of three talking by a maroon BMW. Reeked of family money. Of effortless popularity.

A kid with more freckles than Billy thought one human being should have been allowed to have.

A cute girl with orange hair, not bright like Max’s, but something fierce in her smile that made up for the lack of fire.

The third kid, he was sitting on the trunk of the car. Long legs, covered in denim, hanging off the edge. Striped polo stretched across his chest. Eyes hidden behind dark wayfarers.

Something lazy, easy in the tilt of his head.

Like he was trying to balance a crown on top of it.

Made Billy feel like he was looking in a funhouse mirror. Saw something familiar, something like himself when he looked at that kid, but in a different way. A different shape maybe. Different shade.

A BMW to Billy’s Camaro. A polo to Billy’s tank top. Wayfarers to Billy’s aviators. Big, brown hair to Billy’s flat, blond.

But Billy knew what he was looking at when he saw it. Knew that kid screamed _look at me_ the same way Billy did.

Billy looked. The kid looked back.

Opened his mouth when Billy walked by.

“Nice wheels, man.”

_Look at me._

Billy knew better.

Surprised as he was at the words, impressed as he was at the confidence, he couldn’t let it show. Didn’t break stride. Didn’t look back.

Passed by them and raised his voice just loud enough that when he said, “I know,” he knew the kid would hear him.

Knew the kid would be staring at his back as he walked away.

_Look at me._

Billy knew exactly how to win that game and he had every intention of doing so.

Walked into the school. Stopped in the front office for a class schedule and a locker combination. Found it after a good couple minutes of wandering, idle, aimless through the halls.

He took his sunglasses off in favor of putting them on the top shelf. Knew that meant he had to be more careful with his eyes now. Couldn’t look too hard. Couldn’t let them linger anywhere too long.

Only, when he turned his head, that kid, the one from the parking lot, with his long legs and his ridiculous striped polo, was standing on the other side of the hall.

Had his wayfarers pushed up into his hair. Wide smile on his lips. One hand braced on the lockers at his side so that he could look down, lean down to talk to a girl with a jawline so sharp Billy thought it should’ve cut his eyes.

_Look at me._

Billy couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t look away while the kid told a joke that landed, while the girl’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, a laugh she covered with the back of her hand. Cheeks that went pink, shoulders that drew in tight when he leaned in close, whispered something in her ear.

He stood then, the kid. Stood tall. Left the girl at-what had to be-her locker and took off down the hall. In Billy’s direction.

Caught Billy’s eyes.

He had warm eyes, Billy thought.

Not sad, not worn down, run down, but warm.

Bright.

Brightened as he threw his head back with a laugh that made Billy’s hand tighten around his locker door. Made his nose twitch, made the line of his jaw tense.

The kid just laughed. Shook his head and looked at Billy with two words in his warm eyes that Billy didn’t have to hear to understand.

_Caught you._

Billy had gotten caught enough lately. Was honestly a little sick of it. Of not fighting back.

Of not giving in to the heat in his chest and the bite in his teeth.

So he broke the eye contact. Turned his head. Shut his locker.

Walked three down and found a cute, little blonde with her eyes on the books she was taking out of her locker.

He leaned his shoulder against the one next to hers. Tilted his head. Exposed the line of his neck and let his eyes fall half shut.

Dropped his voice down low. Deep.

“S’cuse me?”

The girl didn’t look up.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mean to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me find my first class,” he said. Let his smile shift further to one side. “If you’re not too busy.”

The girl rolled her eyes, had her mouth locked in a thin line. A thin line that fell wide open when she looked up and looked at him, let her eyes do the same. Round and green and so utterly shocked that Billy had to bite his lower lip to hold in a laugh.

Needed to hide how tickled fucking pink he was that his face was covered in bruises, in thick yellow and fading green, and he could still make somebody go speechless.

“Uh. Y-yeah,” she stuttered. “Just gimme a second to uh,” she pointed at her locker, “and then we can,” she trailed off.

“Sure thing,” he nodded. Easy. “Take your time.”

Billy didn’t have to wait three seconds before she shut her locker with a slam. Took the thin paper he offered her with a smile and scanned her eyes over his schedule.

“Okay um.” She handed the paper back to him. Held her books tight to her chest. Looked up at him through her lashes, gestured with her chin back behind him. “215’s that way so.”

He stood tall, opened up his stance so that he wasn’t leaning against the lockers with his shoulder, but his back. “You lead the way, babe.”

If her cheeks flushed red, he pretended not to notice.

Followed her down the hall with his head up, chin back.

Didn’t make it five steps before he saw him. Before Billy saw him. The kid from the parking lot. With the striped polo stretched across his chest.

Wayfarers gone somewhere so that they couldn’t hold his hair back, couldn’t keep the thick strands from falling down over his eyes, but there was nothing to hide the way his head was turned in Billy’s direction.

The way his warm eyes were locked on him.

Same way Billy had done.

Felt like looking in a funhouse mirror.

_Look at me._

Billy couldn’t push a laugh down. Tilted his head back, just like the kid had done to him. Made sure they were looking right at each other and made sure they were close enough that the kid would be able to hear it. His laugh. Hear what Billy meant with it.

_Caught you._

Maybe there weren’t any waves here.

Maybe the walls were too white and the air was too thick and the crickets were too loud, but maybe there was some sort of fun to be had.

Some trouble to make.

A crown to steal.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

Maybe Hawkins, Indiana liked to _behave_. Maybe it pretended to _be normal._

But Billy didn’t. Wasn’t.

And he was willing to bet he wasn’t the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go again, huh?
> 
> rated e, since we'll get there eventually, and tags are definitely subject to change or be added onto as we go
> 
> come find me over on tumblr [@holdenduckfield](https://holdenduckfield.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t that California wasn’t hot. Because it was. Really hot. The kind that burned your skin within seconds. Made you lightheaded if you weren’t careful.

There were ways to beat it, though. The heat. Go in the ocean. Find a store with some air conditioning. Open your windows to create a cross breeze. Get ice cream on the boardwalk and sit under an umbrella.

Billy was used to _hot_. To heat. To beating it.

But Hawkins. Hawkins was too hot.

Too hot without an ocean. For stores built in the 50’s. For dead air that never seemed to move and just. Sat there. Stayed there.

Still air that wrapped around Billy all day long, but especially when the sun went away and the moon took its place. When the rest of the world was asleep and Billy laid there, sweating, suffocating, staring at the ceiling and praying for sleep, for rest that never came.

It had been seven days. Seven days since they left California. Seven days in Hell.

Seven days since Billy last slept and seven days of dark circles hidden beneath bruising, beneath fading yellow and nasty green.

Sleep was sporadic. Random. An hour here. Two there. Twenty minutes if he found a good spot to park, reclined his seat all the way back, and put the AC on _high_. Angled the vents towards his face. Fell asleep with cool air on his skin and an old t-shirt for a pillow.

But it wasn’t nearly enough. Hawkins was still too hot. His face still hurt too bad. His ribs even worse.

He needed to sleep. To really sleep.

Felt a little like he was being pulled apart at the seams without it. Felt less sharp. Less smart.

Too dull. Too slow.

If nothing else, the exhaustion helped him figure out how to handle his first week of school pretty quickly. The way he saw it, there were really only two options to choose from.

One. He could make his name known right away. Turn heads with a good show. Make people look and listen and learn what real royalty looked like by the end of day one.

Or.

Two. He could lay low. Do some listening himself. Some learning. Looking. See how small town fish liked to swim before he tried to smell blood in the water.

Sometimes he could hardly hold his head up. He couldn’t use the heel of his hand as a pillow without pushing on bruises. Couldn’t turn his music up too loud without a dull pressure building between his ears.

And on top of all of that, he just couldn’t sleep. Hawkins was just too hot.

So Billy decided fairly quickly, as early as Tuesday morning, sitting in third period English with a headache back behind his eyes, that he was going to lay low. Have an easy week. Subdued. Lowkey.

An elbow to the ribs changed all of that.

Billy’s first full Friday in Hawkins. A minute or two after the final bell.

The thermometer in his car that morning had told him it was 83. At 7:30 AM. Before the sun was fully up.

Billy had watched the sun come up from his place in bed.

But the day had started at 83 and the air conditioning in this place was no good. As the day went on, the heat had built, stacked on top of itself. Had to be at least 90 by now. Maybe 95.

95 degrees of dry heat, dead air.

Made Billy’s tank top stick to his skin, his hair to the back of his neck. Made him wish for rain, for clouds, but the universe never liked to listen to what he wanted. Ever.

The sun stayed high and the world stayed warm. Hot. Got hotter. Hotter and hotter and _hotter_ and Billy hadn’t really slept in seven days and the pressure between his ears was so tight he thought his head might explode.

And then he got elbowed in the ribs.

His ribs were still busted, cracked to shit from the heel of his father’s boot and they hurt, an elbow _hurt_ , but Billy was good at ignoring _hurt_. At curling his fists and baring his teeth before he acknowledged that he _hurt_.

Even if Hawkins was too hot. Even though he hadn’t slept in seven days.

So he swallowed down the pain, bit back a wince, a groan, and turned on his heel. Hard. Fast.

Fast enough to catch whoever hit him with his shoulder. Knocked them backwards, balled his hands in the front of their shirt and pushed them, pinned them up against the lockers.

It was the kid from the parking lot the other day. With all those fucking freckles. Had a dumb smile on his face.

Nothing like the flat line of Billy’s lips.

“You got a problem?” he asked, voice low. Dangerous.

The kid didn’t answer. Kept smiling.

Wrapped his hands around Billy’s wrists and pushed, tried to get him to loosen his grip, but that only made Billy lock it tighter, made him push the kid back harder. So hard that his shoulders hit the lockers with a metallic pang that echoed in the silent hallway.

Silent, not empty.

Billy could feel the crowd, could feel all the eyes on him, on them. Wondered how many people were looking, _look at me,_ but looking back meant looking away and he wasn’t about to give this kid the satisfaction.

“I asked if you had a problem, dipshit.” The kid’s mouth dropped open, a big, round _O-shape_ that Billy wanted to wipe away with his fists. “What’s the matter, Freckles? Cat got your tongue?”

The kid closed his mouth with a snap. Tilted his chin up, defiant. “Fuck you.”

Billy laughed. Right in his face. Couldn’t push it down, too loud and slightly manic, but it had to be pushing a hundred degrees in the hallway. Billy hadn’t slept in seven days.

And the kid flinched back. Just the way Billy’d hoped he would.

Control. He was in control. Was ready to run with it while he had it.

“Okay, here’s how this is gonna work,” he started, let the laughter, the amusement leave his voice. “You stay the fuck away from me and we won’t have any issues.”

The kid flared his nostrils, tried to push at Billy’s hands again. Like he thought Billy would give in. Like he wasn’t used to anybody biting back. “And if I don’t?” he asked, nothing if not sarcastic.

“If you don’t,” Billy pushed his fists harder against the kid’s chest, heard his breath catch, hoped he was having trouble breathing, “I’ll put your ass six feet under so quick, you’ll still be tasting dirt by the time anybody even notices you’re gone. You got that?”

The kid let out a huffy, little breath as he shook his head, turned it to one side. Lost Billy’s eyes with that same stupid smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Whatever-”

“Come on, Tommy. Knock it off.”

Billy’s stomach turned over.

He wanted to say that he didn’t recognize the voice, wished he didn’t so that he could say _fuck off_ and be done with it, but he did. Recognize it.

Sort of. Vaguely.

Confirmed his suspicion when he turned his head and met a pair of warm eyes.

_Look at me._

It was Freckles’ friend. The one from the parking lot the other day. And the hallway. With the warm eyes and the stupid, striped polo shirts.

He wasn’t wearing a stupid, striped polo today, but a button-down. Cool white. Clean.

Too heavy, too long for 95, or 100, or 105 degree heat. The sight of it alone enough to make Billy lightheaded-more lightheaded-than he already was.

Who the hell did this kid think he was?

Billy didn’t need anybody’s help. Didn’t want it. Was more than capable of fighting his battles on his own, without the help of anyone, let alone a complete stranger.

A complete stranger with warm eyes and the balls to get in Billy’s way.

Billy was getting ready to snap, to go back at this kid for stepping on his moment when Freckles’ voice- _Tommy’s_ voice pulled him out of it.

A half-assed sigh of, “My bad, man,” that Billy didn’t see, was too busy watching warm eyes to witness himself. To turn his head and demand more, demand something stronger, something halfway sincere, even if it was a lie.

His blood was too busy boiling. Body temperature too busy rising.

Was covered head to toe in anger, red, like Hell, was sure he had steam coming out of his ears by the time he let go of Tommy’s shirt. Felt the blood rush back to his hands.

Turned and pushed off his heel and shoulder-checked Freckles’ friend as he made his way into the crowd, through it. Ignored all the whispers and wandering eyes and the short call of, “Hey! Wait up,” he felt hit his back.

Chose instead to keep going. To push through the front door with shaking hands and make his way towards his car.

Sun high in the sky, heat curling off the pavement in waves, waves that Billy could feel touch his fingertips. Sunshine he could feel on his cheeks. Made him wish he hadn’t left his aviators in the Camaro this morning. Would’ve given anything to have them right about now.

Would’ve given anything for the voice at his back to go away.

The same voice. The third voice.

_Come on, Tommy. Knock it off._

“Hey, hold up.”

Billy didn’t slow down, but before he could put his head down, before he could walk any faster and ignore the voice like he wanted, the kid was next to him. At his side. Matched his stride so that they were walking right next to each other.

Their footsteps in unison, in tandem against the hot pavement as the kid spoke again, just a couple feet away from Billy’s car now.

“Hargrove, right?” he asked. Voice too high. Slightly out of breath, probably from having to sort of chase him. “I’m Steve,” he said. Kept going when Billy didn’t say anything. “Steve Harrington.”

_Steve Harrington._

Billy knew that name. He’d been hearing it all week. Seemed to find him everywhere he went.

Spoken in hushes, by girls who covered their mouths with their hands.

_Did you see Steve talking to Nancy Wheeler?_

Spoken between laughs, by guys with bad posture and jealous smiles.

_You hear Harrington got with both the Stetson twins on the same day?_

He wasn’t totally surprised to find that this face fit that name. That he’d picked this kid out on day one as somebody at the top.

What with the confidence. The look. The attitude.

Billy wasn’t about to let him know that, though.

“I didn’t ask,” he said. Stuck his hand in his pocket and dug around for his keys. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Nothing.” If Billy looked out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the kid-Harrington, _Steve Harrington_ had brought his hand up. Was probably running it through his hair. “I just-”

“Just what?” Billy stopped at the front of the Camaro, turned and met Harrington face to face. Chest to chest. Nearly bumped right into him. “Just wanted to give me shit? Tell me to keep away from your asshole friend?”

“No, that’s,” Harrington shook his head. Slow. Didn’t back down. Didn’t step away. “That’s not-”

“Stay the fuck out of my way next time,” Billy spat. Cut him off. Felt a flush crawl up his neck that had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with shame. With feeling weak. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say you did.” Harrington held his hands up, like he was trying to prove it. Moved hard enough to knock some of his hair loose, sent thick strands to hang down over his forehead. “And I didn’t stop you to give you shit. I know Tommy probably deserved whatever you were gonna give him.”

He paused then. Paused long enough for Billy to get a good look at his eyes. His warm eyes. _Brown eyes._

Deep and dark and dangerous.

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t know. I,” Harrington ran a hand through his hair again. Pushed it back from his forehead, away from his face. Blinked hard. “I wanted to see if you were alright. I guess.”

That flush felt even warmer. Shame hotter.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“I don’t know.” Harrington’s eyes dropped at that. Were focused somewhere near Billy’s shoulder. Maybe his neck. “You’re kinda shaking. Like. A bunch.”

Billy could feel the warmth of Harrington’s breath on his cheeks. Could feel the tremble of his hands down at his sides, the heat of the pavement in the tips of his fingers.

“And?”

“And you’re like,” Harrington’s eyes moved again. Still not in Billy’s yet. Not quite, but somewhere just below them, near his cheeks, “really, really pale.”

_It’s 400 fucking degrees in this hellhole state and I feel like I’m gonna die. Of course I’m pale._

“So?”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Harrington huffed. Said, “Never mind. Forget I even,” and left the end of the sentence to hang in the air. Finally took a step back with a quick roll of his eyes, a shake of his head. Tilted it down towards the ground.

Wasn’t looking at Billy when he kept going.

“Look, man. I don’t know what you’ve got going on tonight, but Stacy Robertson’s parents are outta town and she’s having some people over,” he started. “She lives on Maple. Off Cherry. If you know where that is.”

Billy felt his eyebrows lift, felt a laugh bubble in the back of his throat before he could push it down. Was almost glad he couldn’t, didn’t when the noise made Harrington look up again.

Brown eyes warm. Deep and dark and dangerous.

Billy couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Is that an invitation?”

Harrington was looking at him, was looking right in his eyes when he said, “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Words slow, voice low, so low it almost got drowned out by all the bodies finally shuffling out of the school, all the groups of twos and threes making their way into the parking lot to get in their cars and go home.

Almost.

Harrington kept going when Billy didn’t answer.

“Think about it.”

And with it, he turned, made to walk away, to leave Billy with it, but Billy wasn’t content with letting Harrington have the last word. Wanted to get a little control back. Wanted to knock him back on his heels.

Take him by surprise.

Didn’t bite back the words or hold in the easy, “Billy,” he called out, to Harrington’s profile.

Watched Harrington pause, hesitate, turn back around to look at him again. Eyes narrowed. Mouth thin.

Right where Billy wanted him.

“You can call me Billy,” he said.

Something in Harrington’s brow pinched, pulled at his lips, supported a short laugh that left his mouth with a surprised sort of hiccup, but as quickly as the noise had come, as he’d stopped, he was walking again.

Left Billy to stare at his back, the spread of his shoulders in his clean, white button-down, the mess of dark hair that fell down over the collar. The way he’d rolled the material up around his forearms. The fact that the hem sat just above the pale blue shorts he had covering his thighs.

Not that Billy let his eyes wander that low.

Except for the fact that he did.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

He didn’t let himself linger in the thought long enough to take it too far. Like he might have once. Like he might have last week.

Instead, he got in his car, turned the AC all the way up, and waited for Max. Reclined his seat all the way back. Angled the vents towards his face. Closed his eyes and caught a solid half hour of sleep with Steve Harrington’s voice ringing in the back of his head.

_It’s whatever you want it to be._

Billy wanted it to be an invitation. Didn’t want to spend his first real Friday night in Hawkins stuck in his room, holed up somewhere fifteen feet from his father.

He wanted it to be an invitation. So he took it as one.

Was ready to get piss drunk at some random girl’s house and wash away the heat with cheap beer. Wanted to let loose and find some fun. Get his face out there. Make his name known.

And maybe, if he got drunk enough, he could pretend this was any old Friday night. Back in California. With a beach down the road and the smell of salt to hang heavy in the air.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

The only thing that could, and _did_ , throw a wrench into his night was that Max had plans, too. Somehow.

He’d learned about them over dinner a couple hours later, while he was pushing shitty casserole around his plate, trying not to think about how much hairspray he was going to have to waste later because he couldn’t let sweat or heat get in the way of looking good, when his father’s voice cut into his thoughts.

_She needs to go to a friend’s house to start a group project. You’ll bring her there before you can go anywhere._

That’s how they ended up in the car together around 7, after they’d helped clean up dinner, hours before Billy figured he had to be anywhere.

Max had spent the first five minutes of the ride fidgeting like crazy, filled to the brim with the kind of nervous energy that reminded Billy of going to birthday parties when he was younger.

He might’ve been doing the same, might’ve been more nervous, more fidgety if it wasn’t still 86 degrees out. If fidgeting didn’t mean moving, didn’t mean sweating.

He tried to focus on the radio. Turned his attention to David Bowie, to dancing _under the moonlight, the serious moonlight._

Max was humming over at his side, had quit squirming so much at some point. Was sitting there with her hands on her thighs, pointer finger out long to tap on her knee in time with the music. Head swinging side to side. Carefree.

They hadn’t talked much since they left California. At all, really. Since Max opened her big mouth and ruined everything.

So Billy wasn’t quite sure what possessed him to say it. Whether it was the heat or the exhaustion that made him say, “Where did you say this kid’s house was again?” but he did.

Waited for her to say, “Piney Road Lane, I think.” Comfortable. Casual. “He said it’s by Melvald’s, whatever _that_ means.”

Billy knew where Melvald’s was, had gone back twice in the last week for more cigarettes. Was pretty sure Piney Road Lane was the next left after the stop sign.

The sun was pretty low in the sky, shaded the inside of the car orange, dim. Clashed something awful with Max’s hair, with the green sweatshirt she had on.

How the hell was she in a sweatshirt?

When Billy looked a little closer, when he let his eyes drift away from the road for a good second, he noticed she didn’t have a bag with her. Or a backpack. Or a textbook.

He scoffed. Soft. “Thought you were going there to study.”

Max’s gasp. Softer.

He watched her eyes widen. Just slightly.

Took her so long to answer him that her eyes had gone back to their normal size by the time she did. By the time she answered.

“I am,” she said. Tentative. Too tentative to be the truth.

Billy felt his eyebrows lift. “Without any of your shit?”

Max’s finger stilled on her knee, same time her shoulders drew up.

_Caught you._

His laugh cut into the air between them like glass. Sharp. Mean. Made the left onto Piney Road Lane and said, “Never took you for a liar.”

She huffed then. He felt his hands tighten around the wheel at the noise.

Felt them go tighter when she mumbled. Rolled her eyes and tipped her head towards the window and said, “You’re one to talk,” under her breath.

Like she’d been expecting the radio to cover the words.

Only. It didn’t.

Billy felt all the air leave his lungs like he’d been punched. Felt anger flood his system like he’d just gotten an elbow to the ribs.

The car was too small. The air was too warm. He hadn’t slept in seven days.

“What did you say?”

She mumbled again. Said, “Nothing,” but Billy wasn’t letting it go that easy. Couldn’t.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

She shook her head. “No. I-”

“Y’know that’s weird ‘cause it kinda sounds like you’re calling me a _liar_ ,” he said. Knuckles white around the steering wheel. Foot down hard on the gas. Anger bright and hot and vibrant in his chest.

Went completely cold, fire to ice, frozen when Max opened her mouth again.

“Well we’re not here because you told the truth.”

He slammed his foot on the brake. Sent Max forwards so hard he heard her breath catch in her throat. Heard her gasp.

“Get out,” he said. Cold. Kept his eyes on the road ahead of them. Off her.

“What?” Her voice had pitched up so high that it almost hurt him to hear. Grated on his already shattered nerves. Made him feel more fragile, more breakable. “What are you-”

“Get _out_ ,” he said again. Louder. Turned his head to look at her when she didn’t move and felt his nose scrunch at the sight of her hand curled around the handle. Hesitant. Felt the ice begin to melt with new heat. “Are you fucking dumb? I said get out of the car.”

“Are you insane?” It was obvious she was trying to call his bluff, was waiting for him to laugh and put his foot back on the gas, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She sighed. “I don’t even know where he lives.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

She watched him for another long second, he watched her big, blue eyes dart between his, _back and forth and back and forth and back and forth._

By the time her hand tightened, by the time she pulled on the handle to open the door, David Bowie was long gone, replaced by the Clash, _rockin’ the Casbah, rock the Casbah._

She peered in through the open door once she was on her feet, opened her mouth to speak, but Billy beat her to it.

“Find a ride home later,” he said. Cut her off when she tried to start again.

“But you’re supposed to-”

“I got shit to do. Find somebody else.”

He took off before she could even think to argue, heard her slam the door shut as he did. Didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that she was holding her middle finger up the air.

He didn’t care. Drove away.

Squinted for house numbers through the blur because he knew the kid lived in a number like 2500. Which. Was the exact row he’d left her on.

She’d find the right one soon enough.

He didn’t give it another thought.

Drove home top speed and went right to his room once he got there.

Threw a quick, “Yep,” to Susan’s _did you get there okay?_ and closed the door behind him with a heavy thud.

Went over to the mirror in the corner, near his closet, and focused on his reflection. On getting ready. Looking good.

Traded in his tank top for a short-sleeve button down and primped and preened so that he didn’t have to think about Max, about what she’d said, that she’d called him a _liar_.

As if telling the truth was so much better.

As if telling the truth hadn’t been what got them stuck here in the first place.

He had better things to think about. An appearance to perfect. An image to create.

He popped _Blackout_ by the Scorpions into his stereo, turned it up as loud as he thought he could get away with, and took his time in getting ready. Steady. Slow. Knew it would pay off in the long run to be a little meticulous about it.

Every action, every decision had a reason. A sort of logic. A set of guidelines he liked to follow after years of honing them down. Getting them just right.

Because if he got them just right, if he looked just right, did all the right things, he could be in control. Of himself. Of what everyone else was thinking.

Undo an extra button. _So that they’ll wonder what your skin feels like beneath their fingertips._

Cuff your shirtsleeves. _So that they’ll wonder whether or not you can hold them up._

Wear the spiked earring. _So that they’ll wonder if your jawline’s as sharp as it looks._

Let your hair fall over your forehead. _So that they’ll wonder what it would feel like to push it back._

He undid an extra button, and cuffed his shirtsleeves, and put in the spiked earring, and got his hair to hang just right over his forehead.

Smiled at his reflection and bopped his head in time with _I imagine the things we’ll do, I just wanna be loved by you_ and got a good look at himself in the mirror. Stopped moving long enough to get the look on his face just right.

Keep your eyes low. _So that they’ll wonder what you’re thinking about._

Smile real slow _. So that they’ll wonder if you’re always so sweet._

Run your tongue over your lips. _So that they’ll wonder what it’s like to kiss you._

Tilt your head back. _So that they’ll wonder what it would be like to have you looking up at them._

_Look at me._

By the time Billy left the house, by 10 o’clock on a shitty September evening in Hawkins, Indiana, he was ready to be looked at. More than.

Knew he looked good, sort of felt good, if he pushed all that other shit down. Hid it. Buried it.

Locked it up and threw away the key before it could get in the way, his way.

Had long replaced exhaustion with adrenaline, with excitement. Anticipation.

Pulled up to Stacy Robertson’s house-or what he assumed to be Stacy Robertson’s house, being that it was the only one on _Maple off Cherry_ with a million cars parked out front-with a screech, a high whine of his tires against the pavement.

It wasn’t anything special. The party. Just a medium sized house with too many people and not enough space. Beer so cheap it sat in Billy’s stomach like a rock. Jungle juice so sweet it almost gave him a headache.

At the very least, the place had good air conditioning. He couldn’t complain about that.

So he played along. Made dumb conversation here and there, with pretty girls that looked up at him with coy smiles. Bright lipstick. Brighter eye shadow.

Nothing tempting.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

Billy had never been all that good at impulse control and alcohol always made it worse, but he thought he was doing a decent job at it. At staying distracted. Focused. At least for the first hour or two.

He drank. He flirted. He danced.

He tried.

Billy wasn’t thinking about dull bruises, or busted ribs, or blinding heat, or sleepless nights, or asshole stepsisters, or pretty boys with dark hair and pale thighs.

And then.

And then he walked in through the front door. Steve Harrington. Two hours late with that girl, the one with the sharp jawline, tucked under his arm, close to his side.

The girl Billy was dancing with nearly gasped when she saw them. Took her eyes off Billy to watch them disappear into the kitchen. “So I guess Steve _is_ with Nancy Wheeler.”

Billy didn’t really know what that meant. Didn’t totally care. Wanted the attention back on him so that he couldn’t sit in the thought long enough to care and put his hand on the girl’s waist to bring her in closer. Gave her no choice but to look at him. But to bite her lip and put a hand on his bicep.

_Cuff your shirtsleeves. So that they’ll wonder whether or not you can hold them up._

And that was enough. For a little while.

It was enough to listen to shitty pop music in a room with good air conditioning and dance with a nobody and listen to Hall and Oates sing about how _she’s a maneater._

But Billy had never been all that good at impulse control. At ignoring curiosity. That heat that liked to twist and pull low.

Pretty boys with dark hair and big egos.

He left the living room when his cup was empty again, left the girl by herself. Told her to, “Gimme a minute to get a refill. I’ll be right back,” and winked even though he had no intention of doing so. Of coming back.

What she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. She’d get over it.

Billy went off in the direction of the kitchen to keep up with the façade, to play up the lie. Was kind of glad when he did, when he rounded the corner and saw that girl. The one with the sharp jawline, _Nancy Wheeler_ standing by the fridge.

By herself.

She had one arm wrapped around herself, around her stomach. A solo cup in her free hand, mostly full. Hip against the counter. Head tilted towards the ground, eyes on the floor.

Lips pursed in a frown so tight it had to have hurt.

And somewhere behind her, there was a sliding glass door, half open. Just far enough that Billy could hear people counting.

Could see a pair of pale blue shorts and long legs turned upside down.

He crossed the room without a second thought. Without a second look at Nancy Wheeler. Had his eyes set, path set for the backyard and felt the warm, night air hit his cheeks once he stepped out.

Warm enough to make it harder to breathe, to think, to focus.

He tried to focus on the crowd over at the end of the deck. On the slow count of, “…20….21….22….” that got louder as he got closer. Saw that Freckles-Tommy-and some other kid Billy had never seen before were holding Harrington up. Holding him steady.

Harrington was still in that white button down, still had it rolled up around his forearms, but gravity had done its job and the bottom of the shirt had fallen, hung loose around his ribs.

Gave Billy a chance to see smooth skin, to spot the dips at the small of his back that would probably feel so good, _so good_ under his hands. Made him wonder what it would feel like, to touch Harrington. Made Billy wonder if he’d gasp, or laugh.

Or moan.

Billy tried to push the thought down, wanted it gone, but he’d never been good at impulse control and alcohol always made it worse.

Always made him a little too honest.

_Well we’re not here because you told the truth._

Harrington tapped out around forty seconds in. Billy didn’t know the exact number, thought it was something like 36 or 7, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to know for sure. Had been too distracted. Too lost in his own thoughts.

In trying to control them. Failing.

The crowd went crazy, air full of screams and shouts as Harrington put his feet back down on the ground. Wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. Smiled as Tommy clapped him on the shoulder and laughed as he pushed his hair away from his face.

Looked like a king. One that clearly loved attention. Loved being looked at.

_Look at me._

It was just too bad that Billy loved being looked at, too.

That he wanted all the eyes on him.

That he was still a little bitter that Harrington, no matter how pretty he was, no matter how bad Billy’s hands were itching, had stepped on his moment back in the hallway this afternoon.

That he had been doing keg stands longer than 36 or 7 seconds since middle school.

So when Tommy yelled up over all the cheers, put an arm around Harrington’s shoulders and called, “Who wants to take on the Keg King, huh?” Billy didn’t hesitate.

Stepped forwards with an easy smile and said, “Me,” and felt his pulse begin to speed when the crowd went quiet.

When Tommy’s smile widened. When Harrington’s eyes brightened.

“Okay, new kid,” Tommy laughed. A short sound. Skeptical. “Let’s see what you got.”

Billy kept his eyes on Harrington.

From the moment he walked around to the other side of the keg, to the moment he braced his hands on the edge and got ready, got set to be turned upside down.

Was looking long enough to watch Nancy Wheeler make her way through the sliding glass door. Saw her walk over to Harrington, bump her shoulder into his and gesture with her chin towards the house.

Harrington never took his eyes off Billy.

Not as she grabbed onto his hand. Not as she took a step back and tugged. Not even as he opened his mouth and said something too low for Billy to hear.

Harrington was still looking at him, was looking right at Billy when Nancy Wheeler rolled her eyes and let go of his hand. Went back into the house.

Billy smiled as the world turned upside down. Smiled some more around the tap being held to his mouth.

And then the counting started.

And Billy let his mind go blank.

Didn’t think about Harrington or the crowd or the crown this was about to win him.

He focused on drinking, controlling his breathing, swallowing it all down so that he could keep going, keep going, _keep going._

He drank. Controlled his breathing. Swallowed it all down. Kept going.

He couldn’t hear the numbers too well, not with all the blood that had rushed to his head, or his pulse pounding between his ears, or the adrenaline running rampant in his veins, but if he tried real hard, he could hear something like, “50…51…52…”

And it wasn’t that he needed to tap out. Not really.

He could’ve done more. Kept going. His personal record was well over a minute and he wasn’t nearly close to being done, but he figured it would be best to quit while he was ahead.

Save some party tricks for next time.

The place went nuts when his feet hit the floor. Went crazier when he blew the leftover beer out of his mouth like a fountain, watched it disappear into the air while he yelled.

Had beer all down his chin, felt it on his chest when he pushed off his heel to walk away. Was glad to have given all the small town hicks a show, but he didn’t want to linger in it. Wanted to leave them wanting more.

Wanted them to beg for more.

Didn’t find Steve Harrington’s eyes so that _he_ would want more.

Billy was halfway through the sliding glass door, still had cheers ringing in his ears, hitting his back when he felt an arm slide around his shoulders.

His stomach twisted, tightened with something like _hopehopehope_ , but the voice that hit his ears was wrong. Too rough.

Not warm enough.

“Man, I had you clocked all wrong.” It was Tommy at his side. Tommy’s laugh hitting the side of his face. Tommy’s beer landing on his shoes. “If I’d’a known you were cool, I wouldn’t have fuckin’ nailed ya today.”

He was plastered. Clearly. Billy could smell it on his breath, could feel it in the heavy sway of Tommy’s weight at his side. The fact that he couldn’t make it two steps without bumping into him.

“Yeah, well now you do,” Billy said, stopped in the middle of the empty kitchen. “So are we gonna have any more problems?”

“Nah, dude. No way.” Tommy laughed again. Took his arm off Billy and held his hand up into the air. Like a truce. “We’re alright.”

He went back out the sliding glass door, went back out to the yard before Billy could say anything else.

Billy left the kitchen before he could come back. Had a new, full cup of jungle juice in his hand as he rounded the corner and went back into the living room, but he didn’t feel like dancing anymore. Didn’t feel like talking.

The stairs were empty.

He climbed halfway up and plopped down on the ninth or tenth step with a sigh. Let his weight fall heavy. Let it fall heavier as he leaned back, felt the steps push against his spine in a way that almost felt good. Grounding.

Tipped his head all the way back and let his neck go long, used the hard wood as a pillow and took a deep breath in. A hard one out. Closed his eyes and just. Breathed. Kept breathing.

Didn’t open them when he heard the wood creak next to him. When he felt someone sit next to him. When he felt the hard line of someone’s thigh press against his.

“Pretty impressive what you did back there.”

Billy didn’t have to open his eyes to know who that was. Whose voice that was. Low. Warm.

Like his eyes.

Billy laughed, felt it rumble in his chest. “Pretty impressive,” he repeated, through a huff. “It wasn’t even close.”

Harrington’s laugh was nice, Billy thought. Easy. Warm. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Coulda been worse if I didn’t tap out early.” Alcohol always made him too honest. “Thought you were supposed to be the Keg King or whatever.”

“I was,” Harrington started, knocked his knee into Billy’s. “You know. Before some hot shot walked up and stole my spotlight.”

Billy bit back on impulse. Said, “You stole mine back at school,” and expected it to shut him up, at least a little, but Harrington’s response came quick.

“I only did that ‘cause you looked like you were gonna pass out,” he said. Honest. Too honest. Billy blamed the alcohol. “You coulda knocked Tommy’s head off for all I care.”

Billy felt the corner of his lips pull.

_Smile real slow. So that they’ll wonder if you’re always so sweet._

“Next time you should let me.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, but he hardly gave Billy a chance to hear the words before he took the cup out of his hand.

Harrington took Billy’s cup right out of his hand.

Billy didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t let himself, only moved so far as to open his eyes, just quick enough to watch Harrington bring the cup up to his lips and take a slow sip. To spot the three little moles he had dotting his cheek. To watch his throat work when he swallowed.

To watch him lean back against the steps with his elbows.

To feel his heart climb when Harrington turned his head. Looked Billy in the eyes for real.

Billy looked back, looked up at him from his place against the stairs.

_Tilt your head back. So that they’ll wonder what it would be like to have you looking up at them._

“So I heard you’re from California. That true?”

Billy nodded, felt his head thud against the wood when he did. Sound hollow. Dull. “San Diego,” he said. Felt cheap plastic nudge at his fingertips and opened his hand to take the cup back.

Was too busy looking into Harrington’s eyes, deep and dark and dangerous, to see it back into his palm.

Was too busy trying not to drown.

“Is that where you learned to do a keg stand like that?”

“S’where I learned to do lots of things.”

_Like drink all your asses under a table._

_Like take pretty boys like you apart with my hands._

Harrington blinked slow, smooth. Eyes a little hazy from booze, from the heat of having just been outside.

Heat that spread up Billy’s neck in a warm flush, down his chest, still sticky from beer.

Felt everything go warmer when Harrington’s eye line fell, like he wanted to watch the blush turn Billy’s skin red for himself.

_Undo an extra button. So that they’ll wonder what your skin feels like beneath their fingertips._

“Beer pong one of them?”

Billy wasn’t thinking, was too focused on Harrington’s eyes, on how he’d brought them back up when he nodded. When he said, “’Course,” and kept going when Harrington didn’t say anything. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” The words were soft. Too soft.

“C’mon, Keg King. What’s the matter?” Billy laughed. Soft. Too soft. Liked the way it made Harrington’s lips pull higher. “Can’t find a partner?”

Harrington shook his head once. “I could have anybody I want.”

Billy wondered if he was still talking about beer pong.

“So what are you sittin’ around here for?”

Harrington didn’t hesitate.

“Maybe I don’t want any of them.”

Billy couldn’t breathe.

Held his breath when Harrington let his eyes drift again, let them fall, half-lidded, down Billy’s face and stopped, settled, let silence hang heavy in the air, so thick, so strong, his voice so low that when he spoke, Billy almost couldn’t hear him over the Eurythmics, over _sweet dreams are made of this._

“Maybe I just want you.”

Billy’s heart climbed so high he could feel it back behind his teeth.

He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way he ran his tongue over his lips.

_Run your tongue over your lips. So that they’ll wonder what it’s like to kiss you._

Hardly let the word go. Hardly opened his mouth wide enough to say, “Yeah?” and let eye line fall just in time to watch Harrington’s tongue poke out at the corner of his mouth, too.

Wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Was pretty sure Harrington would taste like heaven.

Wished he could taste the word on his tongue when Harrington nodded. Said, “Yeah,” and brought his eyes back up to Billy’s.

_Maybe I just want you._

Deep and dark and dangerous.

And that’s how they ended up playing beer pong side by side for the rest of the night.

Billy spent the rest of the party with Harrington’s voice in his ears. Harrington’s laugh tickling his cheeks. Harrington’s smile in his eyes and Harrington’s arm around his shoulders every time either of them did something good.

Harrington’s body way too close, way too warm, way too pretty when he leaned in and said, “Is there anything you’re _not_ good at?”

_Impulse control._

Hawkins was still too hot. Billy had long lost the chill of good air conditioning and he had sweat on his neck by the time he finally laid back in his bed and stared up at the ceiling, but he fell asleep for the first time in seven days with Steve Harrington’s voice ringing in his ears.

Something warm twisting in his stomach.

_Maybe I just want you._

Sweet dreams, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Indiana didn’t have much of an autumn. At least not in the traditional sense.

The days passed. September left, went from 29 to 30 and back down to 1, brought in October, and Billy realized that Hawkins wasn’t one of those places that got cooler when school started, that found a break in the heat as grades came in and class bells rang.

No. It was the first week of October and the weather still hadn’t really changed, wouldn’t for another few weeks, if what everybody around here said was true. Billy had only worn sleeves a handful of times and he wasn’t convinced he’d ever need to go out and buy an actual winter coat.

It was already October. Friday the 7th, 1983.

The final bell had rung a few minutes ago, there were Homecoming flyers covering the walls, and Billy was still walking around the halls in jeans and tank top. Well. It was more of an old t-shirt that he’d ripped the sleeves off of once upon a time, but a tank top nonetheless.

Allowed him to feel the hard _taptap_ on his right shoulder better, clearer, stronger than he would have if he’d been wearing a jacket. Was halfway through stowing his books away, getting the ones he needed for the weekend when he felt it.

_Tap tap._

He turned his head towards the right and met empty space, turned it towards the left and met a pair of warm brown eyes, pretty pink lips that were pulled high, supported a wide smile that looked like a _gotcha_.

Felt like a _look at me._

Billy shook his head, matched Harrington’s smile as he said, “Asshole,” without any real heat and fought the urge to smack him on the chest with the notebook he had in his hands.

Harrington didn’t falter. Laughed.

“Hey to you, too,” he said, leaned back, settled all his weight on the locker next to Billy’s and pressed his shoulders flat against the cold metal. The perfect picture of cool and casual, with his arms crossed over his chest and his sunglasses up his hair. “You still going to Adam’s later?”

It was the second time Harrington was asking in as many days. He’d stopped Billy in the hall yesterday to tell him all about Adam’s house. About how Adam’s parents were going to Lake Michigan for the weekend and how his older sister always bought the best booze.

It was the second time Harrington was asking, but it didn’t mean anything.

Billy shouldered his bag, closed his locker and kept his palm there so that he could lean on it. Tilted his chin back. Went for nonchalant. “Who wants to know?”

Harrington scoffed. “Only every girl I’ve talked to today.” His laugh was bright, sweet against the rest of the noise in the crowded hallway. “And maybe me.”

_And maybe me._

Billy tried to ignore the way those three, little words made his pulse speed because they didn’t mean anything.

This was just how it happened.

As it turned out, being _wanted_ by Steve Harrington came with a personal invitation from the king himself at the end of every week. He’d made a habit out of stopping by Billy’s locker on Friday afternoons. Like clockwork. Liked to stand close and shoot the shit, tell Billy about whatever parties were happening over the weekend, about something dumb that had happened during the day.

It didn’t mean anything.

Billy was new, Harrington liked having a drinking buddy that could keep up, and that was that.

It didn’t mean anything. The way Harrington lowered his voice didn’t mean anything. The way Billy’s chest tightened didn’t mean anything.

Every Friday Harrington would ask. And every Friday Billy would nod. Say _sure_ and show up to whatever party an hour late and spend the night playing beer pong and flip cup and kings and quarters shoulder to shoulder with him. Without question.

Today was no exception. Billy already knew he was gonna go to Adam’s, he’d already told Harrington yesterday that he was gonna go, didn’t want to trick himself into thinking it meant anything when it seemed like Harrington wanted to make sure.

Because it didn’t. It didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t mean anything, and Harrington’s smile was a little too bright today. A little too smug. Looked a little too much like he was expecting Billy to jump at the invitation.

Billy felt a little too much like making him work for it.

Worked hard at ignoring Harrington’s eyes, at smoothing out his lips and ignoring the itch he could already feel pulling at the corners when he said, “I don’t know,” and brought a shoulder up towards his ear in a half shrug for good measure. “Probably.”

“Probably?” Billy bit the inside of his cheek, held in a laugh at how quick Harrington’s brow pinched, the way he’d almost flinched, tipped his head back to match Billy’s posture “What do you mean _probably_?”

He was just so easy to rile up. Made it so easy to keep going.

“You know. _Probably_ ,” Billy repeated. Slow. Simple. “As in, maybe I got better shit to do.”

He didn’t. He really didn’t, but it wasn’t like Harrington needed to know that. Especially not when Billy had him exactly where he wanted him. Less than an arm’s length away with a frown on his lips, his eyes, his focus locked on Billy.

Billy, who tipped his head to one side when Harrington didn’t answer, let his eyes dip to watch Harrington tug his lower lip between his teeth.

“What’s with the long face, King Steve? Afraid you’ll be bored without me?”

“Obviously.” Harrington huffed the word, let it go with a long breath, but he hadn’t hesitated. He’d let the word go easy.

He’d let the word go so fucking easy, but it still didn’t mean anything. Not in the way Billy wanted.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

Billy tried to push the hope away. The want. Fought it and ignored it and let his smile shift to one side.

Went for confident.

Confident was familiar. Confident was safe.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’d miss me-”

“Shut up,” Harrington said, cut him off with it. Quick.

And maybe the lights in the hallway were playing tricks on his eyes, but if Billy had to guess, he’d say Harrington’s cheeks were pinker now than they’d been a couple seconds ago.

Billy didn’t believe it, didn’t let it mean anything, knew it didn’t, but he wanted more. Wanted Harrington’s pink cheeks to go red.

“Come on, man. I’m just sayin’ that’s real sweet is all-”

“Shut _up,_ ” Harrington said again, but it was all bark, no bite. Made Billy laugh. Made Harrington roll his eyes, shake his head while he said, “Jesus. Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t be bored if I bailed, too.”

Billy lifted his shoulder again, played at casual.

“Who knows. Maybe I would,” he said, but he leaned his weight a little heavier on his palm. Leaned in closer. Close enough that he could smell Harrington’s hairspray. That he could see the dark flecks of green, of gold hidden in his eyes. “Or maybe I’d take the night off from drinking games and find somebody pretty to help pass the time.”

Harrington didn’t so much as flinch. Just lowered his eyes. Let his smile widen.

“Prettier than me?”

Billy swallowed hard. Ran his tongue along his lips and told his heart to stop beating so fast because it didn’t mean anything. It was Harrington’s ego that wanted the compliment. From somebody. Anybody.

Not his head or his heart and not from somebody like Billy.

So Billy played along, and if it sounded a little too much like the truth, it was nobody’s business but his own. “Never said that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

And before Billy had a second to think about that, to wonder if Harrington was more confident in himself or in his ability to read Billy’s mind, Harrington pushed off the locker. Wrapped a lazy arm around Billy’s shoulders and pulled him down the hall, down the fifteen steps it took to get to the front entrance and out it. Up into the sun.

His hand was warm, thin, almost delicate where his fingers brushed Billy’s bicep. Pale against his California tan.

Billy shoved his hands into his pockets before he could do something stupid. Like reach up to touch Harrington’s hand. Or put his arm around his waist to draw him in closer.

“So tonight’s Adam’s,” Harrington said, as if Billy had given him a straight answer as to whether or not he was going. They both knew better. “He’s in the big, white house over on Elm Street, off Cornwallis.” Billy nodded instead of answering, felt some of Harrington’s hair brush his temple with it. “And then tomorrow’s the quarry party.”

Billy tilted his head down, watched his black boots hit the pavement next to Harrington’s white Nike’s. “Quarry party?”

“For Homecoming.”

“Seriously?” A laugh bubbled up before Billy could push it down, surprised himself with it. “You telling me you actually wanna go to a football game?” he asked, tipped his head to one side to get a good look at Harrington’s profile. Saw that he was smiling, shaking his head.

“Fuck no,” he said, adjusted his arm around Billy’s shoulders, sent a jolt up his spine. “But everybody goes to the quarry party after. It’s like, tradition.”

“Never took you for the sentimental type.”

Harrington tilted his head then, too. Looked at him. Made it so Billy was drowning in his eyes, in warm brown speckled green, gold while he said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Billy kind of wanted to know everything about him.

“Like?”

“Come tonight and maybe you’ll find out.”

As if Billy still needed convincing.

Billy had a response, had _I’ll be there_ waiting on the tip of his tongue when he caught them. Out of the corner of his eye.

Max and two other little dweebs standing next to the Camaro.

Great. Just perfect.

Billy closed his mouth with a snap, lost _I’ll be there_ in favor of a huff, a twitch of his nose.

Harrington must have sensed it, must have looked forward because one second he was quiet, the next he was leaning in to whisper, “What’s with the geek squad?” so close that Billy could feel the heat of his breath on his cheek.

The best part about it was the way Billy’s heart skipped a beat.

The worst part about it was that Harrington wasn’t wrong. Not in the slightest.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that these kids were lame. One of them had his brown hair shaped into a bowl cut, dark strands that framed his face and gave way to the biggest set of eyes Billy’d ever seen. The other one was a little taller, had darker hair, closer to black, wavier, but still too close to a goddamn bowl cut for Billy’s patience.

Only Max would waste a brand new start on another group of nerds.

Only Max could ruin the light, easy feeling of walking around with Steve Harrington’s arm on his shoulders, Steve Harrington’s voice in his ears.

Billy didn’t have time to answer him before they were stopping, before Max and the dweebs were turning to face them fully.

Max already had that look on her face. The sweet one. With the closed-lip smile and the crinkly eyes.

Like she thought Billy would fall for the angel act.

“Hey, Billy.”

God, was that fake.

He squeezed his hand into a fist in his pocket, felt his nails dig into his palm. Tried to focus on the weight of Harrington’s arm on the back of his neck instead of the heat building in his veins.

“Max,” he said. Short. “What do you want?”

Her expression faltered at that, made it obvious that she hadn’t been expecting him to cut right to the chase. He watched her shift her weight between her feet, tighten her hand around the strap of her backpack.

She hesitated another long second before she spoke. Her voice was softer, less confident, less bright when she did.

“Um. Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

Painful. This was painful.

“No,” he said, let word hang in the air. Waited for her to keep going.

”Okay. Well, Will’s mom was supposed to be picking him and Mike up,” she started, gestured with her chin towards the pair of bowl cuts off to her side. “She was supposed to be here like, twenty minutes ago, but she still hasn’t shown.”

He knew what was coming. He knew exactly what question was coming, but he played dumb anyway. Just for the hell of it.

Blinked slow. Unassuming. Unaffected.

“So?”

“So I was wondering if maybe you could give them a ride?”

And there it was. Now came the fun part.

“No.”

Max’s face dropped. Eyes wide. Mouth open.

“What? Why not?” The question left her mouth with a whine, made her sound as young as Billy tended to forget she still was. The noise was sharp, but Harrington’s laugh was smooth at his side. Brought that tightness back to his chest.

He pushed it down. Willed it to loosen.

“Because I said so,” he said. Hard.

“But you just said you don’t have anywhere to be.”

“And.”

“And they don’t have a ride.”

“Doesn’t sound like my problem.”

“I know it’s not, but I promise it’ll only be this one time,” she said, but he didn’t budge. Didn’t move. “Come on, Billy. _Please_.”

“Yeah, come on, Billy.” That was Harrington’s voice in his ear. Harrington’s finger playing at his earring. Harrington’s shoe nudging at his boot. “ _Please_.”

Billy’s heart was in his throat.

He spoke before the butterflies could steal his voice.

“Fuck you,” he said, wished it had come out sharper, meaner so that he could pretend like he meant it.

But Harrington ducked in closer. Whispered so low Billy could barely hear him. Could’ve sworn he felt Harrington’s lips brush his ear.

“Ask nicely.”

Billy almost choked. Elbowed him on instinct. Before he could do something stupid.

Like ask nicely.

Harrington dodged him with a laugh, let his arm slip free from Billy’s shoulders as he took a step away and brought his sunglasses down over his eyes with it. Hid them away.

Walked away and out towards the rest of the parking lot, towards his car before Billy could even think to say _I’ll see you later._

He didn’t think he had to. He was pretty sure Harrington knew anyway.

Max was still looking at him when he took his eyes off Harrington’s BMW. Blue eyes narrowed. Mouth turned into a frown.

She was never going to let it go. He knew that from experience.

Sighed. Clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. “Three weeks,” he said, abrupt in the silence. “I do this and you take the trash out for three weeks.”

It was an empty threat. Mostly.

His father would shit a brick if he saw precious, little Max doing one of Billy’s chores and he was pretty sure Max knew that, too.

He said, “Got it?” anyway. Max nodded anyway.

Said, “Got it,” and grabbed onto the bug-eyed one’s hand, who grabbed onto the taller one’s hand, and pulled them over to the car before Billy could change his mind.

Once they were all settled, Max in the passenger, the other two in the back, Billy grabbed his aviators out of the cup holder. Covered his eyes. Waited while Bug-Eyes whispered an address and pulled out of his spot once he had a good enough idea of where he was going.

Got moving.

And that’s when things got interesting.

When the taller one finally opened his mouth and spoke just loud enough for Billy to hear him over the radio, over Mick Jagger _begging don’t make a grown man cry._

“That guy’s such a douchebag.”

Billy flicked his eyes towards the rearview mirror, saw the frown on the kid’s face. Wanted to tell him he’d get stuck like that if he stayed there too long.

He might’ve, if he wasn’t so curious as to where this was going.

The smaller one threw him a funny look. Brow pinched. “What guy?”

“The guy with Max’s brother before. Steve Harrington,” he clarified. “You know, the one with the dumb hair.”

Billy ignored the way his stomach flipped over at the sound of his name because that was ridiculous. This feeling was ridiculous.

The smaller one tipped his head. “I don’t know him,” he said, but the taller one was quick to bite back.

“Yeah, you do,” he said. “He’s the one that just dumped my sister.”

“Nancy?”

“Well, it wasn’t Holly, genius.”

It made sense. Billy hadn’t seen much of Nancy Wheeler since the party at Stacy Robertson’s house.

He just didn’t know that Harrington had officially dumped her. Or that she had a kid brother with a bad attitude.

Interesting.

“Since when do you care about who Nancy’s dating?”

“I don’t,” he flinched. Made a face like he was pained. Or maybe sick. “It was just annoying. She cried about it for like, three days straight.”

The little one returned the face, scrunched his all up. “Gross.”

“Tell me about it.”

A voice in the back of Billy’s head tried to tell him that it didn’t mean anything, sounded like the very same voice that said _behave_ and _be normal._ He didn’t have any more of a chance with Harrington now that he was single than he did when he was taken.

Billy was a lot of things. Lucky had never been one of them.

He didn’t have a habit of getting his hopes up.

They moved onto other things after that. Moved away from Harrington and high school breakups and over towards dumber shit. Some geeky AV club at school or something. Which. Apparently Max had joined, if the way she turned around to join the conversation meant anything.

Billy couldn’t drive fast enough.

And not for nothing, but it wasn’t like any of them had lied about actually needing the ride.

When Billy pulled up in front of the kid’s house, there were no cars in the driveway, or the long patch of dirt he assumed was the driveway. There were no lights on in the house. The front door was shut.

He wouldn’t do it again, but this time he could let it go. Or something.

As soon as he put the car in park, Max got out so that the dweebs could climb through her door. The Wheeler kid, for all his lanky limbs and struggle, got out without a word.

The smaller one, though. He paused halfway to the door. Hesitated.

Turned his head to look at Billy over his shoulder and threw him a small smile. Billy had half a mind not to flinch at the sound of the kid’s voice. At the easy, “Thanks, Billy,” that he let go, little more than a whisper.

His eyes were so much rounder up close. So much sadder. Made him look older than Billy thought he must be.

Billy didn’t say anything back, didn’t know what to say back, but he nodded. Once. To let the kid know that he’d heard him.

It took some kind of balls to be able to stop and talk to him. The least Billy could do was acknowledge it.

With it, with Billy’s half nod, the kid climbed the rest of the way out. He and the Wheeler kid disappeared into the house and Max got back into the car.

Billy turned the radio up before she could say anything. Didn’t really want to hear a _thank you._ If she was even planning on saying one at all. Decided instead to drown her out with more Bowie, with _my little China girl, you shouldn’t mess with me. I’ll ruin everything you are._

Felt the words so deep in his bones that his hands started to shake. Tried to fight the feeling, to steady them as he tightened them around the steering wheel and put his foot down on the gas. Took off towards home.

That tiny, little house on Cherry Lane that was too far from a beach to ever really feel like home.

He locked himself in his room once they got there. Threw his headphones on and did as much homework as he could before dinner so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it the rest of the weekend. Wanted to see as little of his father, of Susan, of Max as humanly possible.

Laid back in his bed and got lost in the world of Dorian Gray for a couple hours. Ran his eyes over the words and jotted down notes. Wondered what it would be like to be young and beautiful forever.

If a portrait was really as expensive as this book made it sound.

When it came time to eat, he did his best to lay low. Didn’t want any trouble, any attention. Anything that would get in the way of going to Adam’s later.

These parties were the only piece of joy, of freedom, of anything that Billy got in Hawkins. With the rim of a keg in his palms and a crowd shouting his name. The burn of cheap booze that made the world slower, smoother. A couple good hours with Harrington’s smile in his eyes, Harrington’s voice in his ears, Harrington’s arm brushing his and Harrington’s laugh ringing bright.

Harrington, Harrington, _Harrington_.

Billy didn’t know what to make of Harrington sometimes. They’d tease and drink and play and flirt and it was easy. Billy had never known easy like he knew it around Harrington and there was something intoxicating about it, something he wanted to breathe like clean air and bottle up. Save for rainy days when the world was too dark and everything was too much.

But there was no way Harrington meant any of it. At least, not the way Billy meant it. Nobody ever meant it the way he did and the odds of Harrington being anything less than pin straight were a million to one, but there were times Billy wasn’t too convinced.

Times he wondered if he was reading Harrington all wrong. Maybe all right.

On opposite ends of a crowded living room. When they were dancing with their arms around pretty girls and Billy looked up to find that Harrington was already looking back.

On a deck in a warm backyard. When Billy sunk the last cup in a hard fought game of beer pong and Harrington slipped an arm around his shoulders, leaned in close and pressed his nose to Billy’s cheek.

In a quiet corner. When Billy stepped to the side to escape the noise for a little while and Harrington followed him, stood with him while they passed a cup back and forth and laughed and made jokes like they’d been friends longer than a month.

Like Billy wasn’t the only one that felt the spark, the heat, the want and the need and the _differentspecialperfect_ that lit him up inside whenever they made eye contact.

Like they’d known each other just short of forever.

Those were the times that made Billy wonder. That turned an impossibility into something more like an improbability.

Because it didn’t mean anything. Unless it did.

An impossibility was hopeless.

An improbability was something Billy could work with.

So, he did his best to stay quiet during dinner. Didn’t gag on Susan’s roasted Brussels sprouts. Didn’t roll his eyes at his father’s stupid work story. Didn’t make any comments when Max brought up her nerdy AV club.

He even took the trash out once they were done. When his father looked him in the eyes and told him to, the same way he always did.

Max took a step to do it herself, but Billy shouldered past her, took a hard step to get there before she could. He could see her looking up at him in his peripheral vision, could see that her eyes were narrowed, her mouth shut tight in a silent question, but he didn’t say anything.

Neither did she.

He took out the trash and spent the rest of the night getting ready in his room. Standing in front of the mirror. Going through the steps.

Changed into a button down and only did the bottom one. Cuffed the sleeves around his biceps. Didn’t bother with changing his earring, since he’d already been wearing the spiked one all day. Fucked with his hair until it fell perfectly over his forehead and hit it with a healthy dose of hairspray to try and keep it there.

Wasted enough time to get him to eleven o’clock, when he slipped out the front door without a word and took off towards Adam’s house. Elm Street off Cornwallis.

The party was already in full swing by the time he walked in, if the near deafening volume of the music and the chorus of laughter were anything to judge by. The energy was good, great really. Put a smile on Billy’s face almost immediately. Fanned the butterflies he could already feel swirling low in the pit of his stomach.

The air was warm, Cyndi Lauper was singing about how _girls just wanna have fun,_ and Harrington was somewhere.

_Somewhere._

It was easy enough to find the kitchen. To dunk a solo cup in the bowl of bright red liquid sitting on the island in the middle, to wait for it to fill to the brim. He took a quick sip to make sure it wouldn’t spill while he walked, because he did have a reason to walk.

A pair of warm brown eyes to find.

Had to spend a little while looking. Spent a couple minutes scanning the crowd gathered around the keg in the backyard, the mess of people dancing in the living room, the quiet corners of pretty people making dumb conversation.

Billy spent twenty minutes wandering from room to room, maybe a half hour, before he finally found him. Spotted his hair in a medium sized room off the living room, at one end of a beer pong table, standing next to Tommy.

It was stupid. It was so stupid how one look at him made Billy’s smile widen. Billy couldn’t even see the front of him. Just the spread of his shoulders in a thin t-shirt.

But he didn’t try to fight it. Let his lips pull higher as he took a step down into the room. Slid past a girl and a guy, was careful not to spill his drink as he walked up behind him. Decided to have a little fun with it.

Reached out and tapped Harrington twice on the left shoulder. Same way Harrington had done to him that afternoon.

_Tap tap._

Took a quick step to the right before Harrington could turn his head left. Laughed when Harrington did exactly that, turned his head so fast it should’ve given him whiplash, but he was just as quick to turn his head right. To find him.

Found him.

Knocked all the air clean out of Billy’s lungs.

_Prettier than me?_

There was no such thing. If Billy could go back in time, he would and he would tell him _there’s no such fucking thing._

He looked good. Ruffled and messy and relaxed in all the right ways. His cheeks were already flushed a rosy shade of pink. His pupils were blown wide and his hair was standing wild. Lips stained red from what had to be the drink back in the kitchen.

Billy wanted to lean in and taste.

Said, “Hi,” and took a long sip of his drink. Gave himself a taste there instead of where he really wanted. Winced when he swallowed and felt it burn all the way down.

Almost as warm as Harrington’s smile. Teasing. Like his voice.

“Hey,” he said, took a step closer while he did. Billy had half a mind to hold still. To plant his feet. “You just get here?”

Billy nodded, but he didn’t have the chance to respond before he felt a soft hand on his own, a right hand curled on top of his left, around his cup. Soft. Delicate. A gentle pull that helped bring it up, guided the cup towards his mouth.

He didn’t understand what was happening right away, didn’t think to fight the pressure until the cup was level with his chin. Only pushed back a little, just enough to stall the motion a second. To tighten his hand around the plastic.

Get a good look at the blown heat in Harrington’s eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Harrington’s smile shifted sideways. Distracted Billy enough that he didn’t notice that Harrington had taken control again, had no idea until he felt the rim of the cup against his lips.

“Getting you drunk.”

He had to hold back a shiver when Harrington’s hand slid off his to curl his pointer finger under the bottom edge of the cup. To tip it back for him.

Billy’s mouth dropped open on instinct. Impulse.

Didn’t know what else to do with Harrington so close. Harrington’s eyes so low. Harrington’s hand holding the cup so steady while he drank and drank and drank. Swallowed and burned and breathed while he watched Harrington’s eyes.

It didn’t mean anything.

The way Harrington took another half step closer didn’t mean anything. The way Harrington spread his hand wide so that he could touch his thumb to Billy’s pinky finger didn’t mean anything.

The way Harrington’s breath caught when the cup was empty, when Billy brought it back down to his side and licked the excess liquid off his lips didn’t mean anything.

Billy lowered his eyes. Watched Harrington’s mouth move while he said, “Feel it yet?” and wondered if Harrington’s voice was as rough as it sounded or if he was imagining it. If he was just lightheaded.

He shook his head, slow. Wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. Couldn’t take his eyes off the stubble on Harrington’s jaw. Wanted to feel it scratch at his lips. Wanted to feel it burn his skin.

Felt thin plastic touch his free hand, his right hand, and realized that Harrington was handing him his own cup.

Billy took it from him without a word. Brought it up without help and took a long sip without prompting.

Impulse control was overrated anyway.

Harrington looked like he was going to say something, opened his mouth while Billy swallowed, while he licked at his lips again to get him to look down again, but whatever it was, whatever he wanted to say got cut off by the sound of Tommy’s voice.

“Christ, Harrington. What’s taking so long? We’re up. Let’s _go_.”

Harrington lost whatever he was going to say in favor of a sigh. A good eye roll. A tip of his head towards the table like he wanted Billy to follow.

Billy didn’t think twice about it.

Didn’t think twice about finishing the rest of Harrington’s cup off.

Didn’t hesitate when Harrington handed him all his punishment cups to drink instead of drinking them himself.

He hid a laugh behind his hand the first time Harrington handed him one, when the other team protested and Harrington held his middle finger up.

Said, “Fuck off,” because he could. Because he was the king and no one could tell him otherwise.

“Looks to me like you’re taking advantage,” Billy said, kept his tone light, to let Harrington know he was kidding.

“I don’t care.” The flush on his cheeks was more red now than pink. Had spread down the line of his neck. Disappeared into his shirt. “And you need to catch up.”

Billy was looking at his eyes again when Harrington reached down to tap on the side of the cup he’d just given him. Nudged at the bottom when he didn’t move and made Billy lift his arm without thinking.

And then the cup was empty.

Everyone in this room would do anything he said.

Billy was no exception.

He’d do just about anything for that half-lidded look in Harrington’s eyes. The way he let his gaze fall every time he brought a new cup up and the way he smiled every time Billy took another one from him and brushed their fingers together.

It was a couple minutes past midnight, and Billy was just drunk enough to wonder if it meant something.

Maybe.

Maybe Harrington was drunk enough to let Billy pull him into a corner somewhere. To let Billy pull him out into the backyard, around the side of the house. Out into the dark and away from prying eyes.

Impulse control didn’t matter when there was no one else around to see.

All that mattered was him and Harrington and whether or not they wanted.

But it was a couple minutes past midnight, and the universe had other ideas.

Harrington had just finished his second game of beer pong, Billy had _wanna get some air?_ on the roof of his mouth, and some girl had grabbed the two of them by the hands. Was already moving to drag them out of the room.

“Whoa.” Harrington’s tone was clipped, startled. Nearly lost his balance and toppled sideways into Billy, knocked their shoulders together. “Jesus, where’s the fire?”

Billy thought maybe he had English with this girl. Thought her name was something like Jackie or Jessie.

Not like it mattered.

He tried to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grip. Kept him there.

Watched her smile brighten when she said, “No fire,” and tugged them around a corner, through an open doorway. Down a set of stairs and into the basement.

There was already a group of ten or twelve people getting themselves arranged into a circle, or something Billy guessed was supposed to be a circle. It definitely wasn’t one, but the shape didn’t matter. Not exactly.

Not when there was an empty wine bottle sitting in the middle.

The universal symbol of _somebody’s life is either about to get ruined or made sometime within the next half hour._

Billy’s heart dropped like a rock.

Felt it settle deeper as she steered them to a broken spot in the group, pushed them both to sit, to fill in the gap.

Billy had his eyes locked on the bottle in the middle of the circle, had lost his heart somewhere in the bottom of his stomach because this wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t what he wanted at all.

He wanted to go outside. He wanted to bring Harrington outside and get away from everybody else. Get Harrington all to himself.

He didn’t want to sit in the middle of a crowd. He didn’t want to play a dumb game.

He definitely didn’t want to watch Harrington kiss anybody else.

He wanted to go outside. To take a chance at slipping his fingers into Harrington’s. To pull him close and hold him there and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.

Billy was just drunk enough to want to try it. To push down the nerves and think about how many tallies there were in the _he likes me_ column versus the empty _he likes me not_ column. The signs were there and Harrington had gotten him drunk and Harrington had said _ask nicely_ and, and, and-

Why the _fuck_ were they sitting down here when they could be outside? When they could be alone? Why didn’t Billy ask him to go sooner? Why did Harrington need to play a second game of beer pong? Why-

He got pulled out of his head, the storm of thoughts, of regret swirling in his mind by the feeling of Harrington’s elbow hitting his. Sent a spark all the way up his arm.

“Hey,” Harrington’s voice was soft. Billy could see in his peripheral vision that he had leaned in closer. That his head was turned in Billy’s direction. “You good?”

No.

“Fine,” Billy mumbled. Short. Wanted him to drop it. To leave it alone.

So. Naturally, he didn’t.

“Uh huh,” Harrington laughed.

Billy turned his head at the sound. Met his eyes and held in a gasp because _fuck_ , he was close. He was so much closer than Billy expected and it would be so easy.

He was drunk and so was Harrington and he was right there.

All Billy had to do was tip his chin. Tilt his head. Close his eyes and shift his weight and lean in closer and he could-

“You look pissed.”

“M’not,” he said. Felt caught. Felt his nose scrunch. Couldn’t push the impulse down. “I just don’t understand why we gotta play.”

“Oh yeah. Real tough to understand why anybody’d wanna drag you into a kissing game,” he teased. Billy hoped to God he didn’t hear the way his breath caught at the words.

Bit back to try and hide it. “Keep sayin’ shit like that and I might think you got your fingers crossed.”

And if Billy thought he couldn’t breathe before.

Harrington didn’t say anything. He hummed, somewhere in the back of his throat, so soft Billy could hardly hear it.

But he didn’t say anything as he lifted his hand, held it up into the air between them, and crossed his middle finger over his pointer.

Lit a match under Billy and set him on fire.

He was almost glad when the room went quiet, when everybody turned their attention to the kid leaning in towards the center. Some boy Billy had never seen before. Was almost directly across the circle from them. Took the bottle in his hand and spun it.

Meant Billy didn’t have to answer. He didn’t trust his voice at a time like this anyway.

Was too focused on the cross of Harrington’s fingers, middle over pointer, no longer in the air, but on top of his knee. Almost like he wanted Billy to see. Like he was actually hoping.

Like he meant it.

Billy was never going to forgive himself for not dragging him away sooner. Was pretty sure he could hear the universe laughing, mean and dark and cruel, because _somebody’s life was either about to get ruined or made,_ and he’d never been lucky enough for the latter.

The first couple rounds went fairly quickly. Started with that kid on the other side and worked around the circle in Billy’s direction. Clockwise.

Every time it landed on someone new, whenever the group got loud and rowdy, had their eyes, their attention set on whatever sorry suckers got dragged into the middle, Billy felt his heart beat harder. Felt it race.

Felt it climb and twist and ache every time the bottle slowed anywhere near him or Harrington, but they’d been here a solid ten or fifteen minutes and it hadn’t landed on either of them yet.

He could be grateful for that.

Was grateful just to sit there and watch, distant, disinterested as that first kid kissed Tammy Thompson from homeroom. As Sarah from bio kissed Ian from the football team. Some skinny sophomore kissed a band geek Billy thought was named April. Carly the Cheerleader kissed Jack the Resident Senior Douchebag.

And then, and then, and then.

And then it was Billy’s turn.

He was just about ready to throw up.

He didn’t want to go. He wanted to get up and leave and drag Harrington with him, same way he wanted to do ten minutes ago, same way he wanted to do an hour ago, weeks ago, but it was his turn and all the eyes were on him.

He already had the mask on.

Tilted his head back. Dropped his shoulders. Let an easy grin pull at his lips and kept his eyes half lidded. Like he was into it. Like he was ready for it.

Shifted towards the center of the circle and twisted the bottle with his left hand. Let it go. Watched it go and willed himself not to squirm while it spun and passed Harrington.

Spun and passed Harrington.

Spun and passed Harrington.

Spun and passed Harrington and started to slow. Too slow, too far. No, no, _no_ , Billy wanted it to keep going, keep going, but it didn’t. Didn’t listen, just slid, slower, and slower, and slower, and slower until finally it stopped and it landed on.

It landed on Jackie, or Jessie. Whatever the hell her name was. All the way on the other side of the circle.

Something dark twisted in his chest. Empty and sharp and stung like hell, but he wasn’t a chicken. He wasn’t about to back down in front of all these people just because he didn’t feel like kissing her.

 _Behave_ and _be normal._

He didn’t think about it.

Went on autopilot.

Scooted further in towards the center of the circle at the same time she did. Met her there. Brought a hand up to her cheek to keep her still and tilted his head so that their noses wouldn’t hit and.

Kissed her. Simple as that.

Closed his eyes and counted to five, brushed his lips over hers once, twice, probably a third time as the cheers, the shouts rang out around them. Pulled away after another couple seconds and sat back. Rested his weight back on his palms.

Done.

Played like he was proud.

Pushed down the pain, the guilt, the wrong he felt and tried not to let it multiply, amplify when Harrington leaned forward to go next.

Billy’s mouth tasted like strawberry lip gloss, his chest felt hollow and his legs were shaking and he wanted to do something stupid. Like step on the bottle. Like smash his foot down on it and send the glass in a million different directions so that Harrington wouldn’t get a turn.

So that this stupid game would be over already.

He didn’t, though. He brought his legs in closer. Folded them over each other and held onto his ankles. Tight. Turned his tanned skin snow white with how strong his grip was. Sat there, stayed put, still while he watched Harrington twist his wrist and spin the bottle without a second thought.

And the bottle just spun and passed Billy.

Spun and passed Billy.

Spun and passed Billy.

Spun and passed Billy until it began to slow, somewhere around Jackie, or Jessie. On the other side of the circle. Slowed as it dragged against the carpet and towards them, towards _him_ , just slow enough that Billy thought about maybe.

About _maybe it might_ and _maybe it will_ and _what if it does._

Because all of a sudden, it looked like it was going to.

Billy felt himself lean forward as he watched it inch closer, and closer, and _closer_ , so close he could feel his heart hitting his ribs and just when he thought it was going to move another inch, that maybe it might stop on him, that Harrington had crossed his fingers and hoped and got lucky in a game of _ruined or made_ , it.

Stopped.

Landed on Emily. The girl immediately to Billy’s right.

One person away.

So much for crossed fingers.

Billy wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

He held his breath while he watched Harrington shift. Expected him to wait for her in the middle, same way everybody else had done all game, but of course he didn’t do that. He didn’t do that at all.

He didn’t wait.

Instead, he turned. Shifted closer to meet her at the edge of the circle and ended up meeting her just a couple inches in front of Billy. A couple inches above him.

What the fuck was a little salt in the wound, really?

Maybe the universe hated him. Maybe Harrington was doing it on purpose. Maybe he knew how bad Billy was hurting and maybe he wanted to make it all a little bit worse, maybe he wanted to make Billy feel it, but that didn’t mean Billy had to play along.

Billy kept his head square, but he shifted his eyes off to one side. Away from them. Didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to watch.

He had no interest in watching Harrington kiss this girl and his jaw was beginning to ache with how tight he had his teeth clenched. He just wanted it to be over, didn’t understand what the hell was taking so long and hated that he could see them getting closer to each other out of the corner of his eye. Slow. Too slow.

Felt like time had slowed just to make him suffer more.

Felt time stop completely, felt the world stop dead on its axis when he felt a hand on his knee.

Brought his eyes forward and felt them go wide when he saw that it was Harrington’s hand. On his knee.

Harrington was kissing her. Billy could see that up in the top of his vision, could hear it in the way the crowd was making noise again. Shouting, cheering, egging them on and begging for more, but it was little more than a dull hum in Billy’s ears. Was hard to hear them over the sound of his own heartbeat.

That steady, solid _thumpthumpthump_ that told him he was alive and on fire because Harrington’s hand was on his knee.

Harrington was kissing her, but he was touching Billy.

Harrington’s body was far enough in the way that it probably shielded the contact from the rest of the group. If anybody did see, if anybody had the balls to call him out on it, Billy knew he’d probably just blame it on leverage, balance.

But Billy knew better. Harrington’s fingers were scratching at the worn denim of his jeans. Harrington’s thumb was pushing into his thigh and his palm was radiating heat onto Billy’s skin.

He was kissing her, but he was touching Billy.

It meant something. It had to mean something.

It was only a couple more seconds before Harrington took his hand away, before he plopped down next to Billy with a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Folded his legs the same way Billy had done and knocked their knees together in the process.

Billy still hadn’t taken a breath.

This room was too small. There were too many people around. The air was too thick and Harrington was too close and Billy was too drunk, too stupid.

Way too bad at impulse control.

He needed to get out of here.

He also needed to be smart about it, no matter how bad his legs were aching. He needed to make sure it didn’t look so much like he was running away. Needed to be careful.

So, he stayed an extra round. Just to be safe.

Sat there while the girl on Harrington’s left spun the bottle, blushed fuchsia when it landed on Timmy Cahill and kissed him with an easy peck that couldn’t have lasted more than three seconds.

Billy’s whole body felt like a livewire. One wrong touch, wrong push and he’d light. Explode. Turn to ash and dust and broken bits.

He pushed up off the ground once everybody’s eyes were locked on the next kid after her. Figured it was safe. That nobody was looking and nobody would care.

Harrington caught his wrist, though. Looked up at him from his place on the ground, lips a thin line.

“Where are you going?”

 _Away_.

“Nowhere,” he lied. Pulled his wrist from Harrington’s grip and wondered if his skin was red, if it was burned from where he’d touched him. “I gotta piss. I’ll be right back.”

He might have felt worse about lying, about leaving Harrington there alone if his legs weren’t screaming so bad. If his head wasn’t screaming for him to run and his ribs didn’t feel so much like they were squeezing, tightening, twisting around his heart.

He didn’t stop in the kitchen for another drink on his way out the door. Figured he was drunk enough as it was. Didn’t need any more to make it worse.

Went out the back door and circled around to the side of the house. Thanked heaven and hell and all his lucky stars that there was nobody else around. Gave up quick on holding all his weight and slumped against the house, with his back against the dirty, white siding and his head tilted towards the sky.

Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And another. And a third. Filled his lungs with clean, fresh air and felt his body go more and more slack, more and more loose, less tight, more pliant with every passing second.

Eventually, when he had his breathing under control and it didn’t feel so much like his legs were going to give out beneath him, he opened his eyes. Only moved so far as to pull a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. Placed one between his lips and lit it up, took a good drag, put all the extra shit back in his pocket and ran a hand over his face.

Tried to wipe away the daze. The heat. The want, tinged with fear and disappointment and hope and maybe and please.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been outside. The sweat had cooled on his skin and the breeze felt good on his chest.

He had his lighter back out, had another cigarette between his lips, flick, flick, scratched his zippo until it lit, had only just stuck the end into the flame when he heard footsteps at the corner of the house.

Closed the lighter with a snap, a flick of his wrist and stuck it back in his pocket. Turned his head and narrowed his eyes to try and get a better look at whoever was walking towards him.

Wasn’t all that surprised when the moonlight caught just the right way, gave Billy a good look at Harrington’s face. He wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t think Harrington would come looking. He really should’ve.

Retrospect and all.

It was easy, the way Harrington slumped against the house next to him. Easier for Billy to take a drag instead of talking. Easier still for him to take the cigarette away from his lips and hold it out.

Held back a shiver when their hands brushed, when Harrington’s fingers, Harrington’s lips replaced his own and he took a solid drag.

Said, “You disappeared,” on the exhale. Spoke through a thin cloud of smoke. Not an accusation or a question, but a statement. A fact. A bit of a frown.

Billy turned his head forward, didn’t want to look at him when he lied. Again.

“Needed some air.”

“I get that.” Harrington’s voice was soft. The next crackle of the cigarette was, too. Soft. Cherry still red when Harrington held it out in front of them, gave it back to him. “I’ll leave you to it. I just,” he pushed off the wall, rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand, wasn’t looking at Billy, “you know. Wanted to make sure you were okay or whatever.”

He made like he was going to push off his heel, but Billy was drunk and impulse control didn’t exist anymore.

He reached out and caught Harrington by the elbow. Said, “You don’t have to,” and held his breath when Harrington went still. “Leave me alone, I mean. You can stay. If you want.”

Harrington only hesitated a second, a long, awful second where Billy doubted every choice he’d ever made that had led him up to this point, wanted to take the words back and lock his mouth shut and throw away the key, but eventually Harrington turned back around. Gave in and faced him.

But instead of leaning with his back again, he put his hands in his pockets and rested his shoulder on the side of the house.

His front nearly flush with Billy’s side.

Would’ve been, if he didn’t keep those short, few inches of space between them.

Billy couldn’t help but let his head loll to the side, expose the line of his neck. Press his temple to the siding and look into Harrington’s eyes.

Warm. Brown, speckled green. Gold.

Deep and dark and dangerous.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, blinked slow with it. Lazy. Almost sleepy. “House was just starting to feel too small.”

Not a total lie.

“I’ll drink to that.” Harrington took the cigarette from him again. Went quiet for a couple seconds as he took a pull, tapped it off, let the ashes fall to the grass at their feet. “At least tomorrow night’ll be better that way.”

Billy pursed his lips, adjusted his head against the siding. “What do you mean?”

“At the quarry party, dumbass.” Harrington had a laugh hidden in his smile when he brought his hand up between them, put the cigarette between the purse of Billy’s lips for him. Accidentally brushed his thumb over Billy’s bottom lip and put goosebumps on his skin. “You know. Fresh air. Sky full of stars. All that cheesy shit.”

It did sound sort of nice. Billy couldn’t deny that.

Half of him wondered what tradition looked like in Hawkins. If it was anything special, anything different than what he’d already seen. If this party was going to be any different than any of the others he’d been to in the last few weeks.

The other half was a little sick of sharing. Was still feeling a little stupid for not dragging Harrington out of the house sooner and a little stupider for feeling so broken up about a game as dumb as spin the bottle.

Maybe Billy wanted Harrington to himself for a night.

Maybe he was just drunk enough to ask.

Brought the cigarette down and did. Asked. Before he could think better of it.

“What do you say we ditch that?”

“What?” Harrington’s brow pinched, lowered his eyes towards Billy’s mouth. Watched Billy repeat himself.

“What do you say we _ditch that?”_ he asked. Put some emphasis on the last two words so that maybe Harrington would understand him better.

Harrington’s expression didn’t smooth out, not the way Billy wanted. He wanted to ease the crease between Harrington’s eyes, soothe it, wipe it away with his thumb. He hooked it in his belt loop so that he couldn’t.

Was glad when Harrington’s face did even back out a couple seconds later, when he tilted his head to one side, leaned his temple against the house. Same way Billy had done. “Just you and me?”

“Yeah,” Billy said. Soft. So low he wondered if Harrington could even hear it. “Just you and me.”

He stopped there, waited for Harrington to say something, anything. Felt himself deflate as more seconds ticked by without a word. Tried to cover himself. “Unless you really wanna go. Then I don’t care. We can-”

“No, it’s,” Harrington cut himself off with a hard shake of his head. Made his hair bounce with it. “It’s okay. I’d uh. I’d rather do something else.” He paused. Dropped his voice down low. Like Billy’s. Soft. “With you.”

Made Billy’s heart jump.

“Are you sure?” Billy didn’t want to ask, not really, but he didn’t want to force Harrington into anything, either. Didn’t actually want to guilt him into going. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna. I know it’s tradition or whatever-”

“Billy.”

_Look at me._

Harrington brought his eyes back up again. Was looking right at Billy, made sure Billy was looking back when he said, “Fuck tradition,” and held the eye contact as Billy nodded, let him know that he understood. That he agreed. “What do you wanna do?”

Billy brought the cigarette up for another pull. Lifted his shoulder, let it fall.

“You tell me, Hawkins,” He blew the smoke in a long line off the corner of his mouth, didn’t want to nail Harrington in the face with it. “I mean, there _is_ other shit to do in this town, right?”

“Well, yeah. There’s-we could, like.” Harrington paused. Tugged his lower lip between his teeth and shifted his eyes out towards the rest of the yard. Like he really had to think about it. “We could go to the movies?”

Billy didn’t know if it was a lie when he said, “There’s nothing good out,” but he didn’t care.

Not that he couldn’t have fun with Harrington in the back row of a dark theatre, but he didn’t want that yet.

Maybe someday, but not yet.

“Okay,” Harrington laughed. Took a second. “There’s a diner across town that’s got really good pancakes.” He paused again. Waited for Billy to say something. Kept going when he didn’t because that wasn’t what Billy wanted to do, either. “Or you’ve got the junkyard. Or the arcade.”

Jesus fuck, there really was nothing to do in this town.

Not a single thing.

Billy officially wasn’t convinced they weren’t going to end up at that dumb party, but Harrington wasn’t out of ideas just yet.

Was still talking.

“-and the pool’s closed, so I guess that’s out. But there’s this clearing out past Lover’s Lake that’s-”

“What’s that?” Billy jumped on it. Fast. He jumped on it so fast. Maybe too fast.

Watched Harrington blink at him. Brown eyes big, almost wide.

“What’s what?”

“Lover’s Lake.”

“Oh.” It was a soft sort of sound. A surprised one, as Harrington tipped his chin in towards his chest, ducked his head, made his hair fall down over his forehead, his eyes.

Billy would’ve given anything to be able to see him better, to be out of the dark and back in the light. Wanted to see if Harrington’s cheeks were red, if he was as flushed as that _oh_ made him sound. Didn’t get in the way when Harrington kept going.

“It’s just like a hangout spot,” he started. He didn’t say _a makeout spot,_ but Billy had heard the rumors. Knew what went on at a place with a name like that. Wasn’t afraid of it. “Just this huge lake near the edge of the woods and shit, but.”

He stopped talking there. Wasn’t looking up.

Billy wanted to push his hair out of his eyes, bring a hand up to his cheek and tilt his head back up.

_Look at me._

“But?”

Billy watched his eyelashes flutter, watched him blink once, twice, a third time before he tipped his head up, just like Billy was hoping he would. Got a good look at him before he kept going. Spoke through something like sigh.

Soft. Slow.

Impossibly warm.

“But it’s nice at night. Quiet,” he said. The words little more than a breath. Made Billy feel dizzy, too dizzy to blame on alcohol. “Probably be empty, too. Since everybody’s gonna be out at the quarry.”

What else was there to figure out?

“Sounds like we got ourselves a plan then, huh?”

The words made Harrington’s smile brighten. Made him look more confident again. More familiar.

Made Billy smile, too. Made him ask, “What’s so funny?” even though Harrington wasn’t laughing.

Said, “Nothin’,” and kept his eyes in Billy’s. Pretty. Calm. “I just never took you for the romantic type.”

As if Billy wasn’t wishing they could stay here, right here, like this, forever. Young and beautiful, smiling under soft moonlight forever.

As if he wasn’t wondering if Harrington had the money for a portrait.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like?”

Billy kind of wanted Harrington to know everything about him.

Was even considering letting him see the wrecked portrait in the attic, the one he’d never be able to afford or hold, but existed in the back of his mind. That stayed hidden from cruel eyes beneath an old sheet. Wore all the scratches and scrapes of too many years, too much pain.

Hidden behind a face that said _I wanna be young and beautiful forever. Might even want it with you._

Just maybe.

“Come tomorrow and find out.”


	4. Chapter 4

Billy left the party with a plan to meet Harrington at his house the next night.

“S’just easier that way,” Harrington said, cheeks pink from sweet, red drinks and cool, late night air. “You know. So you don’t have to worry about getting lost or anything.”

Billy didn’t think to question it. Didn’t think to say _how hard can it be to find a gigantic lake in the middle of a small town_ or _you don’t gotta make an excuse if you wanna drive with me._

He was drunk and Harrington was less than a heartbeat away. He wasn’t in a place to question anything.

So he nodded. Said, “Okay,” and followed Harrington back into the house a couple minutes later. Back into the kitchen. Stood with his hip against the island and watched Harrington’s back, the spread of his shoulders, the mess of his hair when he didn’t stop, too. When he took a step over to the side of the room and opened a drawer, another, a third.

And turned back around with a pen in his hand.

A ballpoint blue and a smile.

Billy held his breath. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t fucking do anything but stand there while Harrington reached out and grabbed his left hand, while he ducked his head to look at it and leaned in so close Billy could’ve rested their foreheads together if he wanted.

He wanted, and he might’ve, might’ve moved in closer if he wasn’t so focused on the pinch of Harrington’s brow, the red of his mouth, the pink of his tongue, poked out at the corner while he wrote out his address. A messy scrawl of letters and numbers that tickled Billy’s skin, made his heart beat so hard it almost hurt.

Made it beat a little harder when Harrington didn’t let go of him right away.

When Harrington lifted his eyes, shifted their hands. Barely, but just so far that he could smooth his thumb over the back of Billy’s hand, over the words he’d just written. “My house at nine?”

Billy’s voice was soft when he said, “Yeah,” and he hated himself for it. Just a little bit. He hated how breathless he sounded. How tight his chest was. How light, how easy it was for Harrington to trace over the back of his hand like that. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

He hated himself for it, just a little bit, but he didn’t want any of it to end. Almost told Harrington he didn’t have to let go. If he didn’t want.

Almost asked nicely.

He went home that night with the ghost of Harrington’s smile in the back of his mind. The ghost of his touch. A hand that held onto his knee, a thumb that swept a steady path across the back of his hand.

A path Billy traced over and over and over again while he laid in bed, still slightly dizzy from drinking. From Harrington.

The fact that they had something like a date and he had Harrington’s handwriting on his skin to prove it.

_235 Lincoln Road, Loch Nora_

He already had it all memorized. The numbers, the letters. The slant of Harrington’s L’s and the slight curve of his 2’s.

Didn’t make it any easier to watch it all go down the drain early that next morning.

Billy had set an alarm with enough time to shower before breakfast. Jumped out bed, all but ran down the hall. Scrubbed at the back of his hand before he did anything else and didn’t stop until his skin was raw and red and the words were nothing more than a memory.

Harrington’s touch was nothing more than a memory.

Billy hated it. He hated every second of it. He hated every single voice in the back of his head that told him to get rid of those words, that told him he needed to _behave_ and _be normal_ because it wasn’t fair.

Nothing about erasing Steve Harrington was fair and it made him want to scream. Made him want to stomp his feet and pull his hair and put his fist through the wall because he and Harrington had something like a date and he wanted to wear the proof like a badge of honor. A suit of armor.

Was proud as hell about it and wanted the whole world to know he was winning.

He just. Couldn’t risk it.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t actually stupid enough to sit across the breakfast table from his father with Steve Harrington’s handwriting on his skin.

Steve Harrington, the only person in Hawkins that was actually worth anything. His father, the only person that could fuck it all up.

Billy needed to stay on his father’s good side, and that started with getting out of the shower and making sure his ass was in the kitchen before 9:30 because.

Because Neil had this thing. About family meals. Dinner on weekdays and breakfast on weekends. You had to be there and you had to be on time. No matter what else you had going on. No matter how late you’d been out the night before.

It was a bullshit rule. Some archaic nonsense his father had grown up with and wanted to pass on down to his family. If anyone could call some angry son of a bitch, his fuckup son, his second wife, and his stepdaughter a _family_.

But today wasn’t a day for Billy to throw a hissy fit about it. To scream about how unfair the rules were, how unfair his life was.

Not when he actually had something to lose.

He didn’t want to think about it. How willing he was to keep his mouth shut, to appease his father, to follow the rules when Harrington was the one on the line. Self-preservation had never been a strong suit, nor had it ever been an instinct.

He wasn’t all that good at protecting himself, but maybe he could try. If it would keep this thing he had going with Harrington safe, too.

Maybe that was worth it.

Worth going through the motions. Sitting at breakfast. Playing house. Making nice.

He had half a bowl of cereal in front of him when his father asked him if he had any plans later that night. Face mostly hidden behind a newspaper, coffee mug in one hand.

Billy lied with a well-practiced ease. A steady nod. A steadier voice.

“Yeah. There’s supposed to be some party down at the quarry,” he said. Pushed the cereal around his bowl with a smooth hand. A clean hand. “For Homecoming.”

Kept the rest of the story stuck back behind his teeth. Didn’t say _everybody’s gonna be there except for me and Steve Harrington. We’ll be over at Lover’s Lake. Alone._

What his father didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

Maybe it would.

Either way.

All his father did was hum. Didn’t push it, didn’t push him. Just kept his eyes on the paper and turned his attention over to Max.

Didn’t give Billy a second thought.

“What about you, Maxine? Anything?”

Of course she had plans with her nerd friends and of course his father started with, “You’ll have no problem taking her. Right, Billy?” but Max beat Billy to it before he could answer. Told him he didn’t have to, that the little bug-eyed one, Will, had an older brother that’d already offered to pick her up.

Neil didn’t like it. Billy could tell. Could see it in the set of his jaw, the curl of his hand around his coffee mug, the harsh breath he let out. He didn’t argue, but Billy knew he wanted to. Was glad when ultimately, after another hard breath and an, “Alright,” half-mumbled before a long sip of coffee, he didn’t push that issue either.

Billy made it out of breakfast without a scratch.

Continued that trend on through the rest of the day and kept to himself. Kept quiet. Kept out of the way.

Did a little homework and caught a nap and chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes and ate lunch and dinner with a stupid, little smirk at the corner of his mouth because he was close. He was so fucking close.

Harrington was so fucking close and every minute that ticked by added another set of butterflies to Billy’s stomach.

In theory, tonight wasn’t going to be much different than any of the other Saturday nights Billy’d had in Hawkins. Away from this house. Tucked away somewhere with Harrington.

The difference was that there would be nobody else around to see. No wandering eyes, no curious classmates. Nothing to ruin a good moment or dampen weak impulse control or get in the way of what Billy had been dying for these last few weeks.

Of who Billy had been dying for.

The butterflies continued to multiply. Every time he thought about it. About him and Harrington and a place called Lover’s Lake. The things that could happen there. The things he knew happened there.

Was nearly bursting with them when it was finally time to get ready, long after dinner, long after Max had gotten picked up, long after the sun had set.

The breeze that came in through his bedroom window helped put goosebumps on his skin. Felt good on his cheeks. Real good. Fought the flush he could feel threatening to spread up his neck as that hot, excited feeling began to work its way into his veins.

He tried for casual as he changed his clothes. Didn’t want to overthink it. Didn’t want to overdo it.

Put on a pair of clean jeans, dark wash, a rip at one knee, and thought about going for a button-down, but that felt too typical. Too predictable. Harrington had seen him in one of those a million times.

A change of pace meant a plain white t-shirt. A tight one. So tight he could see the outline of his necklace from where it was hiding beneath the fabric. Clung to his arms and his chest in a way that made lifting weights every other afternoon seem worth it.

Shoes were last, a well-worn pair of black converse, well-loved in all the right ways. Brought him all the way to 8:45.

_My house at nine?_

Half of Billy’s head was telling him to play it cool. To wait another couple minutes to leave so that he’d be a little late to Harrington’s. Make it look like he wasn’t so eager. Like he had other things to do that were equally deserving of his time.

The other half didn’t give a shit. It didn’t care about making it to Harrington’s on time, or even a minute or two early. It didn’t care about looking excited. Didn’t want Harrington to think there was anywhere else Billy would rather be in the whole world.

Which. Yeah. There wasn’t really anywhere else he’d rather be. Except maybe California. Covered in sand and salt water and sunshine.

But even then.

Even if he was in California, he kinda wanted Harrington to be there with him, too.

Harrington belonged on a beach. He didn’t deserve to live and die in a place like Hawkins. To be the king nothing and nowhere and everything sad and simple.

So. Billy listened to the latter half.

Made his way out of the house and over to his car. Rolled the windows down, pulled away while Jim Morrison started to sing about how _the day destroys the night, night divides the day,_ and turned the radio all the way up.

Put his foot down on the gas. Threw his head back and smiled and sang and drummed along on the steering wheel all the way over to _235 Lincoln Road._

Or well. All the way over to Loch Nora.

He’d worked hard at keeping his father’s nose out of his business, at keeping him as far away from Harrington as humanly possible.

Billy wasn’t stupid enough to ruin that by parking right outside his house. Not after he’d told his father he was going to be at the quarry.

He pulled over two streets away from Harrington’s. Parked on Manor instead of Lincoln and walked the rest of the way over. Hands in his pockets, chin tipped back.

Butterflies bright in his stomach.

It was nice out. Cool. Smelled like rain, heavy and sweet, even though the guy on the news said that it wouldn’t. That the weather would hold out until Monday.

But even with that, that thought in the back of Billy’s head that said _what the hell are we gonna do if it rains,_ he couldn’t help but notice that the closer he got to Harrington’s, the bigger the houses got. Started with single-story ranch styles and only got taller, wider, more intricate, more expensive.

For what it was worth, Billy could’ve guessed Harrington had some money. The BMW was a good hint. The preppy wardrobe was another. The _you can’t touch me_ attitude was a third.

You only got an attitude like that if you had money or if you knew how to fight, and Harrington didn’t have hands made for dirty work. Not like Billy did.

So for all Billy knew, Harrington had money, but his house, _235 Lincoln Road, Loch Nora,_ was- _Jesus._

His house was huge.

His house was _huge_.

Billy lived in a three bedroom where a dropped fork against the kitchen floor had the potential to wake him up in the morning.

Harrington lived in some two-story monstrosity that Billy had to lift his eyes, let them drift left to right to see all of.

Made him feel a little bit like a bug on a windshield when he stepped up onto the stoop. Wasn’t sure if he was a minute early or a minute late, but he didn’t really care. Reached out and rang the doorbell and rested his hand against the doorframe, leaned some of his weight on his palm.

Didn’t have to wait five whole breaths before the front door swung open and gave way to him.

To Harrington.

Whatever knots had been twisting in Billy’s stomach tightened at the sight of him. Dark hair wild. Cheeks rosy and pink. Smile pulled high.

Billy’s eyes were low enough to watch him say, “Hey.” To see the word leave his mouth.

He leaned a little heavier on his palm so that he could get a little closer. Could lean a little into Harrington’s space.

“Hey.”

He could smell Harrington’s hairspray this close. His shampoo. His cologne.

Clean. Sweet. Strong.

Kept going.

“Thought you had some geek fest to go to.”

“Nah.” Harrington paused a second to shift his weight, too. Leaned his shoulder against the door. Inched closer. “Y’see, I was gonna,” he said, “but some hot shot with no respect for tradition told me he didn’t want to.”

“So what?” Billy pursed his lips, held a bigger smile back. “You coulda just gone without him.”

“I guess.” Billy dragged his eyes down from Harrington’s mouth to his chest. Got a good look at the green sweater he had stretched across his shoulders, the black t-shirt hidden beneath, poked out at the edge, by the collar. “But then there’d really be no point in being there.”

Had his eyes on Harrington’s throat when he kept going. Heard the way he dropped his voice down low. Teasing.

“What are you lookin’ at, hot shot?”

Billy felt his smile shift. Felt the corners of his eyes crinkle. Felt his tongue poke out to wet the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t feel like lying. Didn’t feel like hiding.

He didn’t have to do either of those things here. Not when it was just him and Harrington. Alone. Together.

Billy’s voice was soft when he said, “You.” Just soft enough to hate himself. Just soft enough to hope Harrington knew he was being genuine.

He dragged his eyes back up the line of Harrington’s neck, the moles that dotted his skin all the way up, from his neck to his chin to his cheek.

Saw that Harrington wasn’t quite looking back. Had his gaze locked low, somewhere near Billy’s chest. Same way Billy had been doing a second ago.

Made Billy want to tease. Made him do it.

“Your turn, Harrington,” he said. Let it hang there a second. “What are you looking at?”

Harrington’s smile was tight lipped, mouth closed. So when he laughed, it was little more than a huff, a short puff of air that left his nose with a rush. Pulled his smile higher, up into his cheeks. His eyes.

Billy was so busy watching his face that he didn’t notice that Harrington had brought a hand up. Only felt it when Harrington touched a finger to his necklace, hidden beneath the tight fabric of his t-shirt.

“You,” Harrington said, the word barely more than a breath. Stole all the air from Billy’s throat when he moved his finger, traced feather light over the hidden pendant of his necklace.

Billy could feel his pulse all the way in his fingertips.

Could barely hear Harrington’s voice over it.

“I didn’t hear you drive up.” And Billy could hear the question in it. The curiosity.

He thought about lying. About saying _I got lost_ and avoiding the subject. He thought some more about teasing. About saying _I wanted to surprise you_ just to make Harrington laugh, to break up the moment.

But the thing that surprised him the most was that, out of all his options, his first thought was to tell the truth. To say _my dad’s a raging piece of shit and I don’t want him finding my car anywhere near your house._

He didn’t. Tell the truth. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t think Harrington needed to live in fear of Neil Hargrove, either.

So Billy settled on something in the middle.

Tightened his hand around the doorframe and nodded. Once. With an easy tip of his chin. “Parked around the corner.”

He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to. Not with the way Harrington nodded. With the way Harrington brought his eyes up so that they were looking right at each other when he did.

_Look at me._

He let Billy know he understood without a word. Told Billy to back up without a word.

A gentle pressure. A push of his finger against his necklace, his chest. Made Billy back up so that he could step out of the house, pull the front door shut with a bang behind him.

Harrington’s hand left his chest, but his touch wasn’t completely gone.

They walked side by side away from the house, out to the street, to his car. Billy could feel the material of Harrington’s sweater brushing against his forearm. Soft. Could feel Harrington’s knuckles brushing the back of his hand. Strong.

Billy couldn’t help it.

His pointer finger twitched before he could tell it not to. Flexed just far enough to touch the back of Harrington’s hand. Impulsive. Too hard to be anything but deliberate.

Didn’t get the chance to doubt himself, to yell at himself because, not even a second later, he felt Harrington tap a finger against the back of his hand. Playful. Too hard to be anything but deliberate.

Billy did it back. And Harrington forth. And back and forth and back, like a couple of giddy, love-struck idiots, until they got to the car.

Which really only made the knots in Billy’s stomach that much tighter. That much hotter.

He’d never been in Harrington’s car before, a fact he realized around the same time he realized that, as soon as he shut the door, the smell of him was everywhere, same way it always was whenever Harrington was around, but somehow so much worse.

Half a breath had Billy lightheaded. Clouded nearly all of his senses.

Couldn’t think about anything other than the smell of Harrington’s hairspray. His shampoo. His cologne.

Clean. Sweet. Strong.

Harrington, Harrington, _Harrington-_

_“Billy?”_

Billy blinked hard. Swallowed hard. Turned his head to one side and saw that Harrington had his eyes on the radio, but there was a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah?”

“You care what I put on?” There was something nonchalant, something amused in his tone that gave away the fact that it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. That Billy had been too far in his head to hear him.

“Oh.” The sound fell from Billy’s lips before he could catch it. Was way too soft for his liking. Coughed to try and covered it up. “No, you can-you can go for it.”

Harrington didn’t say anything, but that smile was still there. All small. Lighting up Billy’s insides like a goddamn firecracker.

He watched as Harrington grabbed a cassette out of the cup holder, took it out of the case, and popped it into the player on the dash.

He squinted, tipped his head to try and get a good look at what it was when Harrington put the case back down, put the car in drive, and took off, away from the house.

He didn’t recognize the sound, when the song started. He didn’t recognize the front cover, either. Saw that it was red. That there were two kids trying their best to look tough and that it had _FANTASTIC_ written across the bottom.

It wasn’t Billy’s type of shit at all, thirty seconds made that fact abundantly clear. Was honestly so far beyond bubblegum pop that he could hardly stand it. Loud. Upbeat. Cheesy as hell.

But.

But it was impossible not to be at least a little amused when it was clearly Harrington’s type of shit.

Billy watched him. Out of the corner of his eye. Watched him tap on the steering wheel in time with the music, bop his head back and forth.

Listened to him sing, mostly under his breath- _“When you tried to tell me what to do, I just shut my mouth and smiled at you. One thing that I know for sure”_ -but just loud enough that Billy had to bite down on the inside of his cheek. Bite back a wider smile.

Tasted copper.

Harrington didn’t notice. Had his eyes on the road. Kept tapping, bopping, singing like he didn’t know he was doing it.

 _“Bad boys, stick together, never sad boys,”_ he sang, and the thing was, he wasn’t half bad, even mostly under his breath. Even though he probably had no idea he was doing it. Kept going. _“Good guys, they make rules for fools, so get wise,”_ and trailed off when the rest of the chorus did, too.

Billy rested his elbow against the window. Pillowed the side of his head in his palm. Tipped it just far enough that he still had a good view of Harrington and didn’t care so much about trying to hide it. The fact that he was looking.

_Look at me._

Looked. As much as he wanted. As closely as he wanted.

Just because he could.

Because there was no one else around to see. No one to tell him not to.

Was looking long enough to watch Harrington shift his eyes sideways. Watched him do something like a double take when he realized Billy was already looking back.

When he realized Billy was literally holding back a laugh.

His hands went soft on the wheel. Still. Like he hadn’t known he’d been drumming on it before, just like Billy knew he hadn’t.

Harrington’s voice was light when he spoke. Breathless.

“Shut up,” he said, almost under his breath. A bit of a laugh mixed in.

A laugh Billy couldn’t help but match. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No,” Harrington conceded. For half a second. “But you didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy felt his brow lift, felt his lips twitch. “You some kinda mind reader or something?”

“Maybe,” he said. Let the word hang in the air. “You don’t know.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Billy paused.

The song was still going, all _“Where were you last night? You look as if you had a fight. Where were you last night?”_ and Harrington was back to tapping on the wheel, with his pointer finger and his thumb.

Too confident for his own good.

Too confident for Billy to keep quiet.

“But if you are, I think you should prove it,” he said, because Harrington wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

Because Billy wasn’t totally sure he was lying.

The words made Harrington laugh. Made him say, “Okay,” before he paused. Pursed his lips. Squinted like he was thinking real hard.

“I think,” he started, took his eyes off the road and met Billy’s, looked at him a long second, “I think you’re glad we skipped out on that party.”

It took all of Billy’s willpower to hold still. To keep his mouth from falling open. His eyes from going wide.

Felt seen.

Too seen.

Was almost glad when Harrington looked forward again, put his eyes back on the road. Spoke, before Billy could drown in the silence.

“You’re also definitely thinking about what a good song this is.”

Billy couldn’t catch the laugh that bubbled up in the back of his throat. Bright and loud. Watched Harrington’s eyes shift sideways again at the sound.

“Fat fuckin’ chance.”

“Oh, come on,” Harrington said. A little like he was begging. “It’s a good song.”

Billy shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he deadpanned, which made Harrington laugh. A surprised sort of sound.

“Yes, it is,” he argued. Behind the laugh. Nice and warm. “It’s fun.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Whatever, man.” Harrington rolled his eyes, lazy. Was still smiling despite it. “Talk shit all you want, but I’m still batting 500.”

The words crawled up the side of Billy’s neck in a flush. Red. Hot. Hopefully hidden in the dark.

He thought about lying again. Thought about saying _you’re batting zero, asshole_ and refusing to give Harrington an inch.

Except.

Except Billy kind of wanted to see him blush, too.

Bit back whatever teasing comment he had on the tip of his tongue and said, “Yeah.” Watched Harrington blink a little harder for having heard it. “Guess you are.”

Harrington kept his eyes on the road, but even the darkness couldn’t hide the rosy pink of his cheeks, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the pull of his lips.

Made Billy’s chest squeeze so tight he could hardly stand it. Made him keep going so that he could break some of the feeling. The tension.

“Song still sucks, though.”

“Shut up.”

Billy didn’t have the chance to process what was happening when Harrington took his right hand off the wheel. Was still mid-laugh, mid-thought. Had his eyes half closed when he realized that Harrington was moving. That Harrington was reaching over.

That Harrington was putting his hand down on his thigh. Warm.

White-hot when he squeezed.

Knocked all the air out of Billy’s lungs. Made his chest stutter, made his jaw go slack. Sent his heart to run sprints in his chest and felt it bounce off each and every one of his ribs and left him wounded. Winded.

Could only watch Harrington when he said, “Shut up,” again. Much more of a whisper this time. A breath. Too soft against the way Billy’s body was screaming. Too loud.

With Harrington’s hand wrapped around his thigh. Harrington’s fingers pushing into his muscle. Harrington’s thumb swiping an easy path, back and forth and back and forth, across the denim that met him there.

Billy didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do because it sounded like _shut up,_ but it felt like _don’t go_. Like _stay_. Like _I want this_ and _you_ and _here_ and _now_.

He had to say it back somehow. He couldn’t breathe, let alone speak, but he needed to say _okay_. He needed to say _I’m not going anywhere._ Needed to say _I want this, too_ and _you_ and _here_ and _now_.

Somehow. If not with his voice, then. Then somehow.

Focused on the heat of Harrington’s palm, the weight of his hand. Only really noticed that the song had changed, _Bad Boys_ gone in favor of _sometimes, I wake up in the morning with a bass line, a ray of sunshine,_ because Harrington had started singing under his breath again. Was tapping against his leg, keeping time with his thumb. The same way he’d done on the steering wheel.

Billy turned his head, pillowed his temple against his fist, and put his eyes on the road. Went for casual. Like his body wasn’t screaming. Like his heart wasn’t racking against his ribs.

Held his breath.

Uncurled his left hand from its place in his lap and rested it on top of Harrington’s. Gentle. Barely let the full weight of it fall, but enough to feel how soft the back of Harrington’s hand was. How warm. Smooth.

Chanced a look out of the corner of his eye and saw that Harrington was still smiling, still singing. Still holding onto him. Didn’t make a single move to pull away or to give Billy any sort of sign that it wasn’t okay, that he didn’t want Billy to touch him back.

Billy let that breath out and let all the worries go. Curled his fingers into the spaces between Harrington’s and told all the voices in the back of his head, the ones that said _behave_ and _be normal,_ to take a fucking hike.

He wanted this. He wanted Harrington, and here, and now.

A set of empty spaces that matched his own. A boy that could fill them.

After another couple minutes and two more song changes, Harrington turned off the main road and onto a dirt one. Dim. Houses long gone. Streetlights few and far between. Trees as far as the eye could see.

Over a month in Hawkins and Billy still didn’t really like the woods. Preferred the wide-open feeling of the beach. The salt air. The sun. The freedom.

The trees freaked him out the worst. It was like he couldn’t trust them. Like he couldn’t take his eyes off them. The darkness that hid between them. Past them. Around them.

It was stupid, to be weary of something like that, but there was something about the woods in this godforsaken town that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. That raised the hair on the back of his neck. That made him curl his fingers a little tighter around Harrington’s hand. Helped him breathe when Harrington gave his leg a squeeze.

 _I’m not going anywhere_ and _I want this_ and _you_ and _here_ and _now_.

Billy held onto that. Onto him.

Was glad when, after another minute and another song change, more pop nonsense, all _Club Tropicana, drinks are free,_ Harrington stopped. Put the car in park and turned it off. Music gone, silence in its place.

Billy sat up in his seat, sat taller so that he could look out over the hood, out across the lake in front of them.

_Lover’s Lake._

It was pretty small, a blip in comparison to something like the ocean. The water was motionless, flat. Nothing like steady, rolling waves. The dirty riverbank nothing like sand. Clouded moonlight nothing like sunshine.

Harrington squeezed his thigh once, before he let go, slid his hand out from under Billy’s and brought Billy’s attention back into the car with a cool shock to his system, overtaken by curiosity. When Harrington didn’t lean up right away.

When Harrington reached over so that he could get into the glove compartment in front of Billy. Billy, who watched with a pinched brow. Listened while Harrington pushed some of the shit around, heard all rattle and knock together.

Harrington closed the glove compartment after a minute, sat back up with the winner in his hands.

A sleek, grey flask and a smile that widened when he saw that Billy had already been looking at him.

_Look at me._

Harrington nodded with a tip of his head out towards the lake. Threw the words half over his shoulder when he said, “Come on,” and got out of the car.

Billy followed without a word.

All the way around to the hood.

Harrington already had the flask up to his mouth. Tipped his head back as he leaned back against the car and closed his eyes. Took a slow sip that Billy watched all the way down, from the way he had his mouth wrapped around the rim to the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

Wondered what Harrington’s pulse felt like under his lips. His teeth.

Harrington wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and held the flask out into the air between them.

Billy took it from him as he leaned against the car next to him. So close that their shoulders were brushing. That he could feel the soft material of Harrington’s sweater against his bicep. The easy tap of Harrington’s shoe nudging at his.

The steady heat of Harrington’s gaze when he closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Felt the burn of what had to be some sort of amber-colored liquid on his tongue. Easy. Smooth.

Didn’t make him wince when he swallowed. Didn’t make him feel like he was breathing fire.

Had to be expensive.

“Jesus Christ.” He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past his lips, was glad he couldn’t when they made Harrington laugh. When he opened his eyes, turned his head, and saw that Harrington was already looking back.

Eyes low, somewhere near his jaw.

“You like it?”

“Hell yeah.” It was an understatement, really. Billy’d never had anything that went down that smooth before. Never. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I, uh-” He paused to laugh, to run a hand through his hair. “I can’t actually pronounce it.” And if that wasn’t just perfectly Harrington. “But it’s something French. I think.”

He threw the words away like he said them every day. Like he drank fine, French whiskey every day.

“Something French,” Billy repeated, more to himself than Harrington. “And where’s a pretty boy like you get his hands on shit like that?”

This time, Harrington’s laugh hit his cheek with a rush. Warm. Like his hand when Billy gave the flask back to him. Brushed their fingers together with it. Didn’t pull back right away.

“Being a trust fund baby’s got its perks,” he said. Let his eyes climb all the way back up to Billy’s. Nearly took his breath away. “Liquor cabinet’s one of them.”

Billy’s cheeks felt warm with it. The alcohol. The smile. The proximity.

“I’ll bet.” With it, he took his hand off the flask. Puts his palms down flat on the hood so that he could lean against it harder. Gave his hands something to do, something to hold onto. Was already feeling dizzy in more ways than one. “Best I can do’s a bottle of Jack.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Harrington lifted his shoulders in half a shrug. Let them go. “Jack’s a good guy.”

Billy felt like teasing. Like pushing.

“Not good enough for tonight, though.”

“No chance.” Harrington brought the flask up to take a small sip. Short. Over before Billy could get a full count to three. “S’definitely more of a reserve label kind of night.”

There was a joke in there, one Billy should have laughed at.

But some of the whiskey had dripped and landed on Harrington’s top lip. Reserve label. Special.

Slid from the flask, down his mouth in a thin trail that Billy wanted to catch on his tongue. Settled for watching Harrington catch it on his.

But he’d never been good at impulse control and alcohol always made it worse. He was just fuzzy enough for it to falter.

“What makes you say that?” He hoped to God Harrington couldn’t hear how ragged his breathing was. How hard his heart was pounding.

Maybe he did, because he didn’t answer the question.

Billy still had his eyes on locked low when he felt cool metal touch his fingertips. Watched the words leave Harrington’s mouth.

“You really gonna pretend like you don’t know?”

As if that wasn’t the whole thing about this.

Billy pretending not to see things because he didn’t know if he was making them up. Pretending not to feel things because he didn’t know if they were reciprocated. Pretending not to want things because there was always somebody around to tell him not to.

He did know, and he was sick of pretending, but he didn’t say anything.

Brought the flask back up and took a much longer sip than Harrington had. Closed his eyes and lost track of the sip after he’d counted to three. Was probably more like eight or nine. Maybe ten.

Went down smooth and sat heavy in the bottom of his stomach. Hot.

Felt some slip free at the corner of his mouth and felt it drip all way down to his chin. Almost exactly like Harrington had done.

Harrington didn’t sit back and watch, though. Not like Billy had done. Didn’t give Billy the chance to wipe it away himself.

Billy had barely brought the flask away from his mouth when he felt Harrington’s thumb at the corner of his lips. Harrington’s fingertips on the side of his neck.

Billy stopped breathing. Couldn’t, with Harrington’s hand on him like that.

Could only turn his head and when he did, he found that Harrington was so much closer than he remembered him being. They were nearly nose-to-nose, cheek-to-cheek.

Harrington’s eyelashes were thick, a fan nearly flush with his cheeks because his eyes were so low. Fluttered when he blinked, slow.

Billy held his breath, held still while Harrington swiped at the whiskey on his cheek, down his chin. Caught the liquid on the pad of his finger and sent a shiver up Billy’s spine. Put goosebumps on his skin.

More knots in his stomach. Hot coals in his chest.

Went up in flames when Harrington traced his thumb back up and stopped at the corner of his mouth. Traced along Billy’s throat and curled the rest of his fingers under his chin.

Billy couldn’t help it. The way he reached up to hold Harrington’s wrist. To hold him there. Wanted to keep him there. Forever, if that was okay.

 _I want this_ and _you_ and _here_ and now _._

He swiped his thumb over the inside of Harrington’s wrist, the sensitive skin that met him there, and felt a thrill, a twist, a flame when Harrington’s lips parted with it. When his breath hitched.

Felt the whole world shift on its axis when Harrington brought his eyes up to meet his. Kept them half-lidded, but just enough for Billy to drown. To fall.

To tip his chin and nudge at Harrington’s nose because he didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to say _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me_ with anything other than his hands. His eyes. The brush of his thumb across Harrington’s pulse and the slow tilt of his head.

Thought maybe Harrington was saying _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me_ when he tilted his head, too. When he let his eyes drift low again. Parted his lips so Billy could taste his breath on his tongue.

So Billy could taste the way his name fell from Harrington’s lips.

An easy, little, “Billy,” that tasted like reserve label whiskey. Like Steve Harrington.

Like _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

It was all Billy needed.

To close his eyes and kiss him. To lean in close, tip his chin, and press his lips to Harrington’s.

And it was slow, at first. Still.

He felt, rather than heard, the way Harrington’s breath caught at the contact. Felt him open his hand so that his palm was flat against the side of Billy’s neck, thumb at the corner of his jaw. Felt him tip his head, so that he could kiss back with equal pressure.

Just this easy press of lips that wasn’t anything, and absolutely everything.

Put fireworks back behind Billy’s eyes. Made his heart jump. Stole the air from his lungs and replaced it with Harrington, Harrington, _Harrington_ and _this_ and _here_ and _now_ and only got better when Harrington started to move.

Just so far as to brush his lips over Billy’s. Slow. Gentle. Made Billy feel dizzy, drunk, like he was falling. Let go of Harrington’s wrist so that he could bury his hand in the hair at the back of his head and hold on. Keep his feet on the ground. Keep his head above water and out of the clouds.

Made it easier for him to kiss back. To get a good angle and find a good rhythm. Twisted his fingers, tugged on Harrington’s hair and pulled moan from his lips, a sound that dropped his mouth open, made him push back harder.

The prettiest goddamn thing Billy had ever heard in his life, the hottest thing he’d ever felt.

So good he didn’t feel any of the raindrops hitting his skin.

They didn’t exist. Nothing existed but Harrington. But the press of his mouth, the whiskey warm taste of his lips, the nip of his teeth when he bit down on Billy’s lower lip and pulled.

Made him groan. Made his chest ache. Made him press in closer. Open his mouth wider. Kiss him harder.

It could’ve been a minute. It could’ve been an hour. It could’ve been a lifetime.

When they broke apart, it was only because they’d run out of air, because they needed to catch their breath.

Billy needed him close. Needed him _closer_.

Took half a step away from the car and stood in front of him. Ducked his head, nudged at Harrington’s jaw with his nose and got him to tilt his chin back. Exposed the whole line of his throat so that Billy could kiss him there.

Felt his pulse beneath his lips, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. Tasted rainwater, clean on his skin.

Harrington’s hands were cold. Slid the one from Billy’s cheek to the back of his head and pushed at the hem of his t-shirt with the other. Put a cold, soft hand on the small of his back and pulled him in closer. Helped Billy take another step towards him.

Billy still hadn’t opened his eyes. He didn’t see it, but he heard how the rain was beginning to pick up. Felt how damp Harrington’s hair was, how slick his skin was.

Harrington’s voice was rough in his ears. Wrecked in the best way possible.

“Billy.” God, he’d never get tired of hearing his name in Harrington’s mouth. Dragged his teeth over his throat just to hear him say it again. Was proud when he did, when it came with another moan, a hard press of Harrington’s fingertips into the skin at the small of his back. _“Billy.”_

“Yeah?” Billy trailed his mouth up the line of Harrington’s neck. Along his jaw.

Was just past his chin when Harrington said, “It’s raining,” and made Billy laugh. Bounced the sound off his skin.

Billy stopped at the corner of his jaw and kissed it with smiling lips. Tipped his chin and nipped at his ear. Took note of the fact that Harrington didn’t hesitate, that he angled his head to make it easier, to give Billy more room.

Billy whispered, “I don’t care,” and felt Harrington’s hand twist in the hair at the back of his head. Tug.

Pull him up for another kiss.

A harder one. A longer one.

Better, with Harrington pulling him closer. So close Billy had to slot a thigh between his legs to help them fit together. Moved his hand from the back of Harrington’s head to hold the side of his neck, to brush his thumb over his cheek. Brought his other hand up to push at the bottom of Harrington’s sweater.

Huffed, when he slipped his hand underneath and his fingers were met with fabric. Harrington laughed, turned into a gasp when Billy reached under the shirt and finally found his skin. Opened his hand wide so that he could feel as much of him as he possibly could.

Took a chance and rolled his hips, just once. An easy, testing pressure that made him sigh into Harrington’s mouth, with relief, with want. Dick already half-hard and Harrington right there with him when he did the same, when he pushed himself against Billy’s thigh with a gasp. Tasted like heaven.

Heaven on earth, but hell in the sky.

Thunder cracked somewhere up above them and Billy broke away with a soft smack. Swallowed, tilted his head back to look to look at the clouds and reveled in the way Harrington didn’t hesitate. The way Harrington moved with him and kissed the underside of his jaw. Once, twice, nipped and licked, dragged his lips and stayed there just long enough for Billy to see a good bolt of lightning brighten up the sky.

“Fuck,” he whispered, closed eyes when Harrington scraped over his jawline with his teeth. _“Fuck.”_ Lower, that time. Breathier. Lost himself in it for just a second, in Harrington, the sting of his teeth, the swipe of his tongue.

Only pulled himself out of it with another deep roll of dark thunder. With the wet strands of Harrington’s hair tickling his chin, his own fallen messy his forehead.

Nudged Harrington’s cheek with his chin and got him to back up, just so far that Billy could tilt his head down. Look him in the eyes. The blown heat that pushed at his irises. Hid warm brown in favor of his pupils.

Deeper, darker, more dangerous than Billy had ever seen them.

_Look at me._

Made it easy.

So easy for Billy to grab his hand and drag him around the side of the car, into the backseat. Laid back and pulled Harrington with him. Pulled Harrington to lay on top of him once he was finished shutting the door behind them. Knees on either side of Harrington’s hips and Harrington’s hands flat on the seat, on either side of his head.

It was cramped, Billy couldn’t deny that. His shoulders were a little too broad, Harrington’s legs were a little too long, the seats were a little too narrow, the roof was a little too low, but Billy kinda. Kinda liked it like that.

He liked that they had no other choice but to be too close. That he had no other choice but to feel Harrington everywhere, all the way up, all the way down. From his thighs to his chest to the hair that fell down over Harrington’s eyes and onto Billy’s forehead.

Billy reached up to push it back for him, ran his fingers through his hair and watched the way it made Harrington swallow. Made him shiver, in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, the rain, the fact that they were both soaked and probably ruining the upholstery in the process.

It didn’t matter. Not when he could feel Harrington everywhere. When he looked up and saw that Harrington was already looking down at him. Lips parted. Breathing uneven. Eyes wide and blown, but also sort of earnest.

Sweet. Hesitant.

Billy wanted to keep going, wanted to kiss him and feel him and roll his hips and pick up right where they left off, but that look in Harrington’s eyes made him pause.

Made him ask. Just above a whisper.

“Have you ever?” Because he didn’t know. Because he wanted to know. Had to clarify when Harrington didn’t answer, just looked at him, like he didn’t get what Billy was really asking. “With a guy?”

Harrington lost his eyes then, ducked his head a little and another flash of lighting helped Billy see that his cheeks had gone pink. Eyelashes gone wild, blinked hard while he shook his head _no._

Lifted his eyes high enough to look at Billy again, but kept them half lidded. Half hidden. “Have you?”

Billy nodded, before he could tell himself not to. Because all he could think about was making Harrington comfortable. Making sure he knew that it was okay. That Billy was okay. With this. With him.

He didn’t care about what a nod meant. He didn’t give a shit about his father, or _behave,_ or _be normal,_ or any other fucking thing that existed outside of this car.

Just _Harrington_ and _this_ and _here_ and _now_.

“Do you wanna?”

Harrington’s nod came quicker this time. More steady. More sure.

Lost Billy’s eyes and dropped them, somewhere near his lips, but other than that, he didn’t move, didn’t really breathe, and it only took Billy half a second, half a look to realize Harrington probably had no idea of what to do. How he should do it.

“Okay.” Billy’s voice was soft, too soft, but he didn’t hate himself for it. Couldn’t. With Harrington’s breath on his cheeks. Harrington’s trust in his hands. “Okay.” Even softer. “I got you.”

He slid his hand from the back of Harrington’s head to the nape of his neck . Pulled him down. In. Brushed their lips together, spoke onto them and said, “I got you, Steve,” softest of all, and surprised himself with it.

How easy it was. How natural.

How much better _Steve_ felt, how much better it fit than _Harrington_.

 _Steve_ gasped into his mouth at the sound of his name. Billy caught it, took it, stole it and saved it for later and wanted more. Took his hands from Steve’s face and slipped them beneath his sweater, his shirt, heavy and damp from the rain.

Spread his legs wider and pushed his fingers into the dimples at the small of Steve’s back and pulled, encouraged him down. Wanted him closer.

Nearly saw stars when Steve adjusted his weight, leaned against him a little heavier and followed where Billy was guiding him. Brought his hips down, pressed the hard line of his dick against Billy’s and moaned at the contact.

Billy did, too, after a tentative second, when Steve ground down and rolled his hips in earnest and Billy brought his up to meet them. Felt Steve swipe his tongue over his lower lip and opened his mouth wider. Tangled a leg around Steve’s and pulled him closer. Impossibly. Harder.

Found a good rhythm and gave as good as he got. Moved with him, moaned with him, again and again and again. Slid his left hand from the base of Steve’s spine and into his jeans, just under the waistband of his briefs. Just to make Steve sigh.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Billy felt that heat start to bloom when Steve reached down and curled a hand under his knee to get a better angle. Tugged it up towards his chest and ground down hard as Billy pushed up and brought it from _good_ to _great_ to _perfect_ in less time than it took for Billy to suck in a hard breath.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Billy broke away from the kiss to try and catch it, to chase the feeling. The heat. Felt Steve’s lips at his cheek while he did the same. Mouth open, caught in a silent sound that seemed to have stuck itself to the tip of his tongue.

Only his name came loose.

A soft, “Billy,” that almost pushed him over the edge right there. That Billy could feel on his skin, wanted to etch it into his bones.

Couldn’t help but echo it.

Whispered, “Steve,” and earned himself another moan with it, another good thrust. More heat. ”Steve- _fuck_.”

“I’m close.” Billy could feel it. How frantic the rhythm was. How heavy his breathing was. “Really close. Billy, I-”

Billy stole the words off his lips with another kiss. Turned his head and caught his mouth and gave him all that he needed to tumble over, to go crashing down.

Only took another half a second for Billy to follow.

Felt that heat burst and explode wide open as he came. Gasped and shook and spilled into his jeans while Steve did the same and caught every sound he made, every gasp, every shake, and held him through it. Past it. Away from it.

And from there, everything just got. Slower.

As they broke away from the kiss and came down. Came back to their senses.

Steve a warm weight, heavy, now that he’d given up on holding himself and settled on top of him. Chest heaving, breathing labored. Buried his nose in the sensitive skin just below Billy’s ear and brought a hand up to smooth his thumb along his cheek.

Billy took his hand away from Steve’s waistband and brought it up. To hold onto his wrist. To hold him there, the same way he’d done earlier. Before.

He kept his eyes half open. Turned his head to one side and nudged at Steve’s forehead with the tip of his nose, felt his eyelashes beneath his lips.

Finally had his breathing back under control by the time he realized just how uncomfortably his clothes were sticking to his skin, not only from _that_ , but from the rain. Not only wet, but cold.

He could hear it hitting the roof now. The rain. Steady, metallic pangs that drowned out the sound of his own heartbeat. The kind that could lull you to sleep within seconds.

He tightened his arm around Steve’s back, his hand around his wrist.

Decided to tease because he could feel the even rise and fall of Steve’s chest against his, could feel his breath against his neck.

“You sleepin’ on me?”

Steve’s nose brushed against his skin when he shook his head. Mumbled, “No.” Muffled. Decidedly sleepy.

Billy scratched at the small of his back. Light. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“M’ _not_ ,” Steve huffed, more a laugh than anything else. “Just comfortable.” And he buried his face further into Billy’s neck, as if to illustrate the point. Whispered, “You’re comfortable,” so soft that it couldn’t be anything other than honest.

Made Billy’s chest ache.

In a good way. The best way.

Billy took his hand off Steve’s wrist so that he could push the bottom of his sweater, the bottom of his shirt up. Could trace along his spine with the tip of his finger. Slow.

Said “Whatever,” without any bite and focused on the path of his finger. The steady puff of Steve’s breath. The solid warmth of his weight. Felt water drip from his hair down his cheek, down the side of his neck, and fought back a shiver. “You’re just lucky you’re warm.”

He hated to say it, but he didn’t hate the way Steve held him tighter at the words. The way he spread his hand wide, put it flat on the side of his neck to give him all the warmth he had.

“So’re you.”

“Warm?”

“Lucky.”

“Shut up.” Billy’s head fell back with a laugh. Felt it, bright and tight and sweet, in his chest. Felt himself finally duck beneath the surface so that he could drown in it. The ease. The comfort.

The effortless nature of every single goddamn thing with Steve.

“You’re such an asshole,” Billy said, but if you listened real hard, it sounded more like _where have you been hiding all this time?_

Like _I’ve been looking for you everywhere._

“So are you.” Like _I’ve been sitting right here._

_Waiting for you to come find me._

“I thought you said I was comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” Steve agreed. Paused. “Cocky.” Nudged his nose at the corner of Billy’s jaw. “Hot as all hell.”

Billy scoffed while he tried to ignore the spark that sent up his spine. “Pot, kettle.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve took his hand off Billy’s neck to tangle his fingers in his hair. Scratched his nails against his scalp and almost made Billy’s eyes roll back. “You sayin’ you got a thing for me, Hargrove?”

Billy’s lips pulled into a smirk before he could help it. Smile crooked against Steve’s forehead. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” The word came with a press of Steve’s lips, an easy kiss to the line of his jaw.

If Billy’s eyes closed with it, nobody had to know.

Nobody but Steve had to know how soft his voice was when he said, “Probably.”

But Steve didn’t stop.

Trailed his lips down his throat, kissed his way across his skin and gave a quick nip that made Billy gasp. Made him tip his head back for more. “Probably?”

A tug on his hair, a drag of his tongue that made him give in.

“Definitely.”

Billy went willingly when Steve’s hand left his hair, when he felt a thumb nudge at the corner of his jaw, a gentle pressure that got him to turn his head, and met Steve’s lips in a kiss that made him dizzy.

Went even dizzier when Steve whispered, “Definitely,” between breaths.

A single word from Steve Harrington, spoken against his lips, better than any expensive, French whiskey.

Something more like ambrosia.

And it stayed simple from there. Unhurried.

Just this brush of soft lips. The slide of wet tongues. Hands on rain-slick skin and sighs hidden in the sound of thunder.

Eventually they had to adjust, because Steve’s legs started to cramp and Billy’s arm started to prick with pins and needles, had fallen asleep beneath Steve’s weight.

They sat up so that Steve had his back against the seat, Billy turned sideways to face him. Threw his legs across Steve’s lap and all but melted into the way Steve put an arm around his shoulders. Kept him close. Tight to his side. Pushed at the hem of Billy’s jeans with his other hand so that he could hold onto his ankle.

And they just. Kept kissing. Stayed trapped in their own little bubble and breathed each other in. Because they could. Because they were alone. Because there was nothing to be afraid of and no one to tell them not to.

Billy had never quite known kissing for the sake of it. Had always seen kissing as a sort of means to an end. A precursor. A prerequisite.

But this wasn’t-this wasn’t that.

This was Steve rubbing smooth circles with his thumb onto his shin, tracing a path up and down and up and down his shoulder with the middle finger on his other hand. This was Billy reaching under his shirt to feel the way his chest moved when he breathed. This was just kissing, because they could. Because they needed to be close and words weren’t enough.

Because their lips could say things their voices couldn’t.

Billy never wanted it to end.

All good things, though.

They broke away at some point for air. Later. Much, much later.

Billy could feel the way his lips were swollen, bruised, looked down and saw that Steve’s weren’t much better. Dark red. Kiss-bitten and stained.

He had to take his eyes off them to keep from leaning back in. Turned his head, squinted and strained, searched for the clock on the dash and felt his heart sink when it told him it was 1:26.

It wasn’t raining anymore. He had no idea when it had stopped. Heard crickets off somewhere in the distance. The low rush of wind around the car.

He turned his head back, but he closed his eyes. Rested his forehead against Steve’s. Hated the way his voice destroyed the silence, popped the bubble. Sent the world to come crashing down around them.

“Fuck.” A whisper. A shaky breath.

Steve took his hand off his shin so that he could reach up and card his fingers through his hair. Made it harder to breathe.

“You okay?”

Billy tipped his head in half a nod, because he wanted to say _no_ , but he couldn’t say _yes_.

“I don’t-” He swallowed. Pulled his lower lip between his teeth to try and catch the words, but couldn’t help the way they fell out. Sighed. _“Fuck,_ I don’t wanna go.”

It was honest, too honest maybe, but Steve didn’t hesitate.

“So don’t.”

Billy’s eyes flew open, brow pinched. “What?”

“Don’t.” Steve was already looking back. Wide-eyed and earnest. “Don’t go. My folks are gone all weekend. You could-“ He paused there, for a breath. Blinked hard. Spoke on a slow exhale. “You could stay. If you want.”

Billy already had an _okay_ waiting on the tip of his tongue. Sweet, like reserve label whiskey.

He wanted so much, and staying over was just the tip of the iceberg.

He wanted to know what Steve’s room looked like, if it smelled as much like him as his car did. He wanted to know what it felt like to fall asleep nose to nose with him, with Steve’s hair splayed all over the pillows and their legs tangled together.

He wanted to know what Steve looked like in the morning, with hazy sunlight on his cheeks and sleep in his eyes. He wanted to know what kind of expensive, Italian coffee the Harrington’s kept in the cabinets and he wanted to know if syrup tasted better on Steve’s lips than it did on pancakes.

But Neil had a thing about family meals, dinner on weekdays and breakfast on weekends, and Billy couldn’t risk it.

Hated how little of himself was in it when he said, “I can’t,” and hated the way Steve lost his eyes.

“Yeah, no,” Steve said, nonchalant. Way too nonchalant. “That’s cool. I-uh. I get it. That’s-”

“Steve.” He only cut him off because he needed Steve to look at him, needed Steve to see how much it hurt him to say it. “I want to. You’ve got no idea how bad, but I just-” He brought a hand up so that he could curl his pointer finger under Steve’s chin. “Can’t.”

Billy used it to tilt his head, just a little. Just enough to get him to look up.

Just enough to say _look at me._

_Look at me, look at me, look at me-_

“Okay.” Steve had his eyes back in Billy’s. Was looking right at him when he said, “Okay,” again and paused, looked, waited, to let the word stick. Smoothed the tip of his finger over Billy’s brow and nodded.

Silent, but Billy didn’t need to hear his voice to know what he was saying.

_I see you._

A look, a touch, a nod, Billy knew Steve was saying, _I see you._

And Billy let himself be seen. Not just looked at. But seen.

Let himself laugh when Steve said, “Just don’t be shocked when I ask again next time.”

Like a promise.

A promise back, when Billy whispered, “Next time,” and didn’t need to look down to know that Steve was smiling.

Not when he could feel it.

It took another minute for either of them to move. For Billy to get the courage to sit up and get out and walk around to the passenger side door before he could convince himself to stay there with him forever.

They drove back to Billy’s car with their hands tangled together. Steve’s right in Billy’s left. That bubblegum pop shit gone soft. That tough-looking kid singing about how _“I fell head first and I just don’t know what to do,”_ and-

 _Shit_ , if Billy couldn’t relate to the idea behind that. To the fear hidden behind, _“Nothing looks the same in the light, only a fool like me would take to heart the things you said you mean last night,”_ but.

But he wasn’t afraid.

He was sitting in a car with Steve Harrington, listening to him sing along to some dumb pop song and he was a million different things.

Amused. Infatuated. Giddy. Stupid.

_Happy._

But afraid? No. Not by a long shot.

Not with Steve going out of his way to drive him back to his car, not with Steve pulling up behind it and putting the BMW in park, and definitely not with Steve undoing his seatbelt, leaning over, and kissing him one more time before he had to go.

“I’ll see you at school?”

“Bright and early, pretty boy.”

With one last kiss for the road.

Half of Hawkins was asleep, the other was still out at the quarry, and Billy, he drove home half afraid to blink. Was scared that if he did it too hard, too long, he’d wake up and realize it had all been a dream.

Hawkins had been a dream. Steve had been a dream.

A practical joke from a universe that never liked to do him any favors.

Only, there were dreams, and there were nightmares, and sometimes, reality had a funny way of mixing the two.

Billy went to sleep smiling. Cheeks stained red. Chest light and airy and so fucking full of something-something sweet, something bright, something good-that he could hardly stand it.

But somewhere, underground, over in a lab across town, reality was starting to take a turn for the weird. Dreams were starting to look a bit more like nightmares.

And things, they were only getting stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the cassette they listen to in steve’s car is Wham!’s first album, ‘Fantastic’ and fun fact, the original title of this fic was gonna be ‘never sad boys’ bc Bad Boys is one of my all time favorite harringrove songs (Nothing Looks the Same in the Light is another, tbh) so if you wanna check those out, i Highly recommend
> 
> also real quick, i just wanna say a huge thank you for all the comments and messages so far, they all make me yell out loud and i beyond appreciate every single thing y’all have to say so. thank you. so much. i really can’t say that enough
> 
> i’m always over on tumblr so feel free to come find me and hang and scream about the boys [@holdenduckfield](https://holdenduckfield.tumblr.com/)


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